


We're Okay

by scottmcniceass



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:50:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 153,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's funny, really, that their lives hadn't intercepted before that point. That all it took was one little thing that set off a chain reaction of circumstances which led them all to each other. But it was for the best, really, because in the end, with each other, they were all okay.</p>
<p>And if you asked them, the whole thing could be blamed on Liam sleeping in, for once in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before we get into this, I would just like to give a bit of a warning of what you're going to find in this fic: drug use, alcohol use, swearing (a lot), sex, child abuse (mostly only mentioned, except for one occasion), instances of violence and a writer who is from Canada (despite my best efforts, there are going to be words or phrases used incorrectly given where this story takes place. I apologize in advance for that). 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own/know/associate with One Direction in any way. This work is a piece of fiction, and I am not in any way implying that I know anything about the members of One Direction, their sexual orientations and/or their relationships.

**Zayn**

The sound of a phone ringing echoed loudly in the room. Zayn groaned and waited a second, praying it would just stop. It didn’t.

His head hurt. Nothing unbearable, though. In fact, waking up with a hangover was kind of the usual for him, at this point. It was more like a steady ache than the pounding, sharp pain that it used to be. A large cup of coffee and maybe an Advil or two and he’d be fine.

“You going to get that?” a quiet female voice asked.

Zayn rolled over to meet a pair of narrowed blue eyes and raised brown eyebrows. She was pretty, at least. Too bad he couldn’t remember what the hell her name was, or if she’d been any good. Not that it really mattered. The whole night before was kind of a blur. He really needed to stop partying on weekdays.

“Hey,” Zayn said slowly. He vaguely recalled her mouthing a name to him over the loud thumping of music. Something with a ‘c’ or a ‘k’. “Cassandra.”

“My name’s Kate,” she snapped, climbing out of bed. Zayn didn’t apologize, but he did watch as she pulled on her clothes, going much slower than she probably usually did, attempting to give him a show. “You know, you might be great in bed, Zayn Malik,” she told him, grabbing for her shirt without a bra, “but you’re a real prick.”

Zayn grinned at her. “Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” she hissed. “In fact, don’t bother calling me.”

Zayn nodded. He wasn’t going to anyways. And he didn’t think he had her number. He hoped she didn’t have his. “Bye.”

She slammed his bedroom door behind her as she went, and the sound made the aching in his head double. He rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, trying to get all the sleep out, and reached blindly for his phone with the other hand. It had started ringing again.

“What?” Zayn demanded as he answered it.

“You still sleeping?” the voice on the other end asked. Steve -- fuck, he hated Steve-- didn’t wait for Zayn to answer. Probably didn’t need to. “Well get up, you shit. I need you to do a run for me.”

Zayn pulled the phone away from his ear to check the time. It was only ten in the morning, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t gotten home until around three, and then he’d hooked up with Katrina or whatever her name was, so he probably hadn’t passed out until around four. He sighed loudly.

“Where?”

“Verton College, the one by--,”

“I know where it is,” Zayn told him.

“Right, well, you’re looking for a kid with curly hair, drives a shitty little green car. He’s meeting you in the lot. Name’s Harry.”

Zayn swung his legs out of bed, phone still pressed to his ear. He hated dealing at any school, to be honest. It wasn’t the smartest thing to do, and the fact that a teacher could walk out at any moment tended to make him a bit too paranoid.

“Alright,” Zayn agreed anyways, because this was Steve, and he couldn’t afford to shoot Steve down, not when he was normally the only reason Zayn made enough money to pay the rent on his apartment. “I’ll be there in about forty minutes.”

“Course you will,” Steve agreed. “Then stop by my place. I’ve got someone who can take an ounce off your hands.”

Zayn made another sound of affirmation and then ended the call. It was too early to talk to Steve for more than five minutes.

Zayn pushed thoughts of Steve and girls with blue eyes out of his mind as he headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth and shower. His mouth tasted like shit, and he could feel the sweat and dirt from the club he’d went to the night before, not to mention the _sex_ , coating his skin.

His apartment wasn’t bad, but the bathroom was definitely the worst part. The water pressure was never good, and you’d be lucky to get enough hot water for more than a ten minute shower. Then again, the place was cheap, and the landlord hadn’t cared that Zayn was underage when he’d started renting it, or that he had no job, technically.

“As long as the rent comes in, I don’t give a shit how you get it,” he’d said a year and a half ago, when Zayn had first looked at the place. He’d known from that moment on that this was the place for him.

And it was, really. He loved his apartment. It might be shit, and his neighbours might be irritating, but the apartment was his, and that was all that mattered. Everything in it belonged to him -- except maybe the blue bra that he’d seen hanging off the bedside table--, and had been paid for by him. It was better than living on the streets-- which he’d done for about a week after his parents had first thrown him out-- or crashing on the couches of people he only tolerated because he could get something out of them.

Zayn turned off the already cold water and towelled himself off. The bathroom mirror would be too fogged up for the next ten minutes for him to do anything about his hair, so he headed for the kitchen, wearing nothing but the towel around his waist.

One look in the cupboards and fridge told him that he’d need to take whatever money he made today and go shopping. He had half a loaf of bread that was already starting to go mouldy, leftovers from that premade lasagne that he’d made-- he couldn’t even remember when. Probably wasn’t safe to eat that. There were a few cans of things that really didn’t look appetising, and then a quarter of a bottle of vodka.

He grabbed the vodka, held it in his hand for a moment, and then decided to put it back. He needed to make money today. He had about twenty quid in his pocket, but he’d already be spending part of that to get around on the city. He had more than enough product, he just needed to get it out there. He couldn’t afford to get smashed that early in the day, even if a shot of vodka would probably get rid of the ache in his head.

He didn’t bother doing his hair up, since he’d only be doing runs all day anyways, and pulled on whatever clean shirt he found in his dresser and the pair of jeans that lay on the floor by his bed. He needed to do laundry, too.

He grabbed his jacket from where it lay in the hallway, discarded in the middle of the night, probably in a haste to get undressed and into bed with Kara, and then pulled his bag from the closet.

He knelt down in front of the stand that stood in the hallway by the front door and pulled out the bottom drawer. Inside the compartment there was a large bag, and Zayn’s fingers easily found it in the dark. He had an ounce and a half left from the last time he’d picked up, and it was all conveniently separated into small, gram sized bags.

Zayn wasn’t stupid. He knew not to leave shit like that lying around, not just in case of police, but because, in his life, you couldn’t really trust anyone who walked through your front door. He also wasn’t dumb enough to carry that heavily loosely in his pockets, either, and he pulled his pencil case out of the bag he’d slung over his shoulder. It had a fake bottom, and after dumping out all the pens and pencils, he shoved the bag of weed inside and then closed the drawer. He put the case inside his bag and left the apartment, only pausing long enough to lock it behind himself. Not that he really had much for anyone to steal.

He spent the bus ride listening to music loudly and idly drawing on the seat beside him with a marker. At one point an older woman sat across from him and spent the rest of his ride glaring at him unabashedly. He wrote ‘fuck you’ in bold letters on the seat, and smirked at her as he got off.

He figured it must have been lunch by the time he got to Verton, because the front of the school was littered with students, and there were cars coming in and out of the lot. Occasionally there was a loud shriek or someone shouting across the street, and Zayn narrowed his eyes, not once regretting the decision to drop out last year.

He didn’t need college. It wasn’t like he’d of graduated anyways. He couldn’t focus in class, and he couldn’t waste the day away sitting in a desk when he needed to be out making money. It just wasn’t worth it.

“Hey!” someone called out, and Zayn turned, meeting a pair of green eyes and a too wide smile. He took in the curly hair, and then the green car the guy was leaning against, and turned to head in his direction. “You’re Zayn, right?” the guy asked.

“Mhm,” Zayn answered, giving the place around them a quick look. There were too many people around, but they were also sandwiched between two cars, out of sight. He pulled open his bag, grabbed out two baggies from his case, and then held out his hand.

“Oh, right,” the kid dug into his pocket and handed Zayn the money, which he quickly pocketed before handing over the bags. “Thanks for this. Big party tonight, and I wanted--,”

“I really don’t care,” Zayn told him.

“Oh,” Harry looked taken aback. “Right. Okay. Thanks, again.”

He felt eyes on him as he walked away, and caught a few giggling girls checking him out. He ran a hand through his hair but didn’t even bother smirking at them as he headed down the street, off to Steve’s and then wherever else he needed to go before he could go home, smoke a bowl, pick up some food, and then pass out. He could already tell it was going to be a shit day.

 

* * *

 

**Niall**

He felt like shit, trudging through the halls after the bell for lunch rang. Who the hell decided that a loud bell was a good idea, anyways? And who decided that it was a good idea to throw a party on a Thursday night?

His head still hurt, and on top of that, there were bruises littering his body. His dad hadn’t been happy too see him come home so late on a school night, especially not trashed out of his mind. Not that it would have made a difference. The fight still would have happened, whether he was drunk and late or not. At least the alcohol had taken on a numbing affect, and the blows didn’t hurt nearly as much as they could have. At the time, anyways. The bruises, on the other hand? They hurt pretty badly.

He was in a shit mood, too. He was annoyed at everything. He’d snapped on his English teacher, told Greg to fuck off when he asked what was wrong, and ignored every text from Maria.

Not that Maria didn’t deserve it. _Fuck_. He ran a hand through his hair. It was also shit today. He didn’t even bother running a comb through it after his shower. He didn’t see any point. Styling his hair wasn’t going to make his hangover or bruises go away. It wasn’t going to get rid of the image of Maria in his mind, making out with Jake Richards in Mark Winston’s bedroom.

It wasn’t like he was in love with her. In fact, dating Maria was mostly something he did because that’s what everyone expected.

They all did things because that’s what was expected of them, he thought as he pushed open the door to the cafeteria. He didn’t even feel like eating, not that the ‘meatloaf’ they were serving today was really considered food.

The way he looked at it, they all had roles to play. He’d walk to their long table in the middle of the room and sit between Greg and Jake. Maria would sit across from him and wrap her leg around his under the table. Jake would tell some stupid, only half true story, and they’d all laugh. He’d hit on Maria, Niall would tell him to back off, good naturedly of course, because it was all good natured. Greg would ask him to come out after school, Niall would tell him he couldn’t because he had to be home. Allison would comment on how cute Niall and Maria were. Jake would tell another joke. They’d all laugh.

That’s just how it worked, in their lives. And sometimes, it was worth it, pretending to like each other. Because they didn’t, at all, really. He didn’t like Jake or Allison, could only kind of tolerate Greg on a good day, and only liked Maria because she was the only one who didn’t make fun of the other kids in the school. Sure, she said she felt bad for them, but that was as far as she went.

People looked up at him as he passed, some calling out greetings, others just smiling. Niall didn’t bother to smile back today. Usually, he would. Usually, he’d stop and chat to a few people, the ones that he wouldn’t get shit from Jake for talking to. But today, it just wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t put a carefree smile on his face, or laugh at Jake’s stupid jokes, or hold Maria’s hand and pretend like it was all okay.

Maybe it was a long time coming, he realized as he approached their table. Maybe it was something they all should have known was going to happen, one of them snapping. They probably just didn’t expect it to be Niall, because he was the easy one of their group. He didn’t get in fights with other kids, like Jake. He didn’t cry over every little thing, like Maria. He was just Niall, the calm, carefree one who knew everyone’s names and got along with _everyone_ , and had since the day he’d moved to the city two years ago from Ireland.

So when he reached the table and pulled Jake up by the back of the shirt and only gave the other boy a moment to react before connecting his fist with Jake’s fat face, no one knew what to do. There were a few gasps, a scream -- from Maria-- and Greg jumped out of his seat and tried to pull Niall away from the fight.

“Let go of me,” Niall warned, pulling his arm out of Greg’s grasp.

Greg wasn’t a terrible guy. He just didn’t give a shit about anyone. That’s why he let go of Niall’s arm and let him have another go at Jake, because he didn’t really care if Jake, someone he’d been friends with since they were twelve, got the shit kicked out of him.

Jake had a hand to his face, covering his nose. Niall kind of hoped it was broken.

“The fuck is wrong with you, mate?” Jake demanded, shoving Niall’s shoulder with the hand that wasn’t covering his face.

“A lot of things, _mate_ ,” Niall told him. “Like you sticking your tongue in my girlfriend’s mouth.”

Realization dawned on Jake’s face, and he heard Maria’s gasp of, “It’s not what it looked like!”

There must have been something in his eyes, though, that had Jake narrowing his. “You want to hit me again? Go ahead,” he said, and Niall noted the way his eyes darted around him. He knew that everyone was watching them, knew that it was only a matter of time before a teacher stormed in and dragged him out. He’d probably get suspended for fighting on school property. Whatever, he didn’t really care.

And so he did as Jake said. His fist connected with Jake’s jaw this time, and Jake’s head swivelled to the left, and he was knocked off balance. He tripped backwards over his chair and hit the ground just as the doors to the cafeteria opened and someone shouted his name loudly.

“ _Niall Horan_!”

Niall straightened his shirt and turned, a smile on his face. “Miss Talbot,” he said as a way of greeting.

It was like all at once, every student in the cafeteria sat back in their seats, as if they were afraid of getting in trouble, too.

“Hallway. _Now_.” Miss Talbot shrieked.

She was an older woman, one of the oldest faculty members, and she had a thin, birdlike face. Niall had never liked her, and the tone of her voice right then didn’t really help that, either.

Niall shrugged and spared Jake one last look. There was already a bruising spot on his jaw from where Niall punched him.

He didn’t care about whatever trouble he was going to be in with the school. A suspension might actually be a good thing, in fact, because he could use a few days break from everything.

When he stepped into the hallway to see a police officer standing beside Miss Talbot, though, he started to care. A lot. His dad was going to kill him.

“Alright, son,” the officer said, grabbing Niall’s arm. “Come on.”

Miss Talbot smiled at him. “I’ll be calling your parents to let them no to pick you up at the station. And then, after that, we’ll all have a nice, long meeting and discuss your future, or lack of, in this school.”

Niall decided to just fuck it all and flipped her the finger as he was dragged out of the school.

He’d never seen the back seat of a police car before, but the seats were surprisingly comfortable. “Sit tight,” the officer ordered, and then slammed the door, leaving Niall alone.

He could see people outside the car. School wasn’t over yet, and cops dragging a student out of the building was more than enough to have everyone’s attention. Niall wasn’t sure if he wanted to grin or yell at all the watching faces, so he decided it was best to just hang his head and close his eyes.

He was kind of an idiot, he realized a few moments later. He was going to be in so much shit with his dad. If last night was bad, it was going to be nothing compared to the beating he was going to get after being picked up at the freaking _police station_.

He remembered the first time his dad hit him. He was twelve, and his dad had found a pack of cigarettes under his bed. Niall didn’t smoke, not even now, but he had friends who did, ones who thought it was cool, and Niall had wanted to fit in. He’d taken the pack, and the lighter, and hid them under his bed. He didn’t ever touch them.

His mother never did anything about it. He wasn’t sure if he was pissed at her for that, or if he was grateful. Maybe it was best that his dad just hit him, and not her too for sticking up for him. He could take it. He wasn’t nearly as weak as he’d been when he was younger. He was stronger now, and he could handle it. He didn’t think his mom could.

And in a year, he’d graduate from college, hopefully get a good enough scholarship to go on to do something at Uni, and he’d leave his parents behind. Both of them. He decided a long time ago that when he left, he was going for good. He wasn’t going to come back, and he wasn’t going to be stuck in this stupid town with people he didn’t really care at all about.

The other back door to the cruiser opened, and another kid was shoved inside. It only took Niall a moment to recognize him, because his head was down and he was staring at his feet.

“My mum’s going to _kill_ me,” Harry groaned, leaning back against the seat. He let his head fall back onto it, and he tilted it to look at Niall. “What did you do?”

Niall shrugged. “Punched Jake in the face.”

Harry looked confused for a moment before grinning at him. “Good, guy deserves it.”

Niall shrugged, but he agreed. He looked closer at Harry for a moment. “What did _you_ do?” he asked, because this was _Harry Styles_ , and that meant that the answer to that question could be practically anything under the sun, from lighting the boys bathroom on fire to setting loose the iguana from the science room.

He and Harry didn’t run in the same circles, but it could be said that Harry was just as, if not more, popular than him. Everyone knew who Harry was. He was a prankster, but in a good way. He didn’t make jokes at other people’s expenses -- teachers being the exception-- and he was a pretty likable guy. He didn’t really have a set group of friends, though. One day he’d be hanging out with the football team, the next he’d be sitting with the art kids. That’s just how he was. Flighty, unattached. He had a friend, though, one he was _always_ with. Niall couldn’t remember his name. Some guy from the rugby team, quiet lad.

“You know Mason, right? He’s throwing a party tonight,” Harry started in his slow drawl. Niall half listened and half watched the officers outside the car, talking animatedly with Miss Talbot. “And he asked me if I knew anywhere to get weed. I don’t really smoke it much, myself, but I know people who do, so I said sure, no problem, I could hook him up. Apparently someone had seen, or heard, or something, because the school had an anonymous tip, and they decided to do a locker search, and they found it in mine.”

Niall raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?” because he hadn’t expected _that_.

Harry nodded. “I’m dead. My mum’s going to ground me until I’m thirty.”

Niall wished that grounding was the only thing he had to be worried about, but he knew he wasn’t going to get off that easily for this.

His knuckles hurt a bit, and he noticed how red and scratched they were. He’d never really thrown a punch before. Maybe it was supposed to be liberating, make him feel tough, but he just felt sick to his stomach about the whole thing now, really.

Eventually the officers got into the car. The rest of the ride was mostly silent, except for the conversation going on up front. Niall stared out the window, taking in the city around them. This was going to be the last time he’d see it for a while, he knew.

 

* * *

 

**Liam**

He was late. He was really, really late. He remembered his mum coming into his room at around six thirty to kiss him on the forehead before going off to work. His dad left at four in the morning every weekday, and worked until late into the afternoon. He was a construction worker, and apparently they had weird times. His mum, on the other hand, didn’t have to leave until a bit later.

He’d sat up after she left, taken a good look at the alarm clock, and decided to let himself sleep in, just for another half an hour. He’d had a horrible practise the day before, and he’d been exhausted after staying up late to work on a paper for English.

Liam was going to be in so much trouble, he just knew it. He never missed class, ever, unless he was really sick, which rarely happened. His school had a very strict No Class, No Practise rule, and he couldn’t afford to miss practise. Not when everything rode on him getting into a good school on a scholarship for playing. Not when his whole future was pretty much defined by how well he could pick up a ball and run with it.

He didn’t have time to shower, and was grateful that he’d taken an extra long one after practise yesterday. He needed a haircut, badly. It was starting to get a little _too_ long, and it curled a bit the longer it got. Not that that was really important right then, because he had to get out the door and to class before lunch ended. Maybe he could convince his coach to let him play if he could think of a good enough excuse for missing the first half of the day.

Normally, he’d wake up in the morning and walk over to Harry’s, and Harry would drive him to school. Harry must have assumed he was sick or something, though, and went without him, which meant that Liam had to either walk or bus.

It wasn’t that far of a walk to the school, and normally he wouldn’t have minded the slow, relaxing exercise. He just didn’t have time for it.

He knew there would be ten money waiting for him on the counter in the kitchen for his lunch. He’d just have to skip it today and use the money for bus.

He grabbed an apple on the way out the door, only pausing long enough to grab his bag from the closet.

He nearly missed the bus. He had to jog to the stop, and even then he only just got there before the driver pulled away.

Liam hated the bus. It smelled faintly, and he never knew where to sit. He slid into a seat closer to the back and pulled his bag onto his lap, in case someone would need the seat beside him. He cursed himself for forgetting his iPod, because that left him without a distraction.

The bus was busy at lunch time, apparently, because it was mostly full. Thankfully, no one sat down beside him, though.

He looked down at the seat beside him and noticed that someone had written in large, bold letters, 'FUCK YOU!'

He made a face at it, and pulled out a pen from his bag. He did his best to scribble over the writing while trying not to be seen by anyone, in case they thought he was defacing public property. There were other things drawn around the words, little careless doodles. Underneath the words he wrote a simple, 'That’s not very nice' and then capped his pen and put it back in his bag.

When he got to school he figured he had about twenty minutes to find Harry and hang out for a bit before class. He didn’t even get to the front of the school before he noticed the police car out front, though, and he hesitated, a bad feeling in his gut.

The first boy brought out by the police, he recognized. Niall Horan, transfer student from Ireland who he’d went to school with for a few years ago. He’d never really talked to Niall before, but that wasn’t surprising, because he didn’t really talk to many people, and the group that the blonde boy ran with wasn’t really his type.

When another officer came out, this time dragging a handcuffed boy with a lost look on his face, Liam’s stomach dropped.

“Harry?” he called, running up to them.

“You best get inside, Mr. Payne,” Miss Talbot instructed. “You’ve only got a few minutes before the bell.”

Harry gave Liam a helpless look and Liam didn’t know what to do. Miss Talbot’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted his bag on his shoulder.

“I’ll-- I’ll call your mum, okay?” Liam said, because it was the only thing he could think of.

Harry nodded before being stuffed into the car.

He knew that Harry had a mischievous streak in him. Where Liam was polite and calm, Harry was rowdy and hyper. Liam preferred to stay low, unnoticed, and Harry had a flair for dramatics and always being in the limelight. Sure, Harry had done more than his fair share of harmless pranks over the year. He’d been suspended a few times, once for dying the entire football team’s uniforms an unflattering shade of pink, but he’d never done anything really _bad_.

This, though, had to be something bad. The school tended not to get the police involved unless it had to do with fighting or drugs. He couldn’t see Harry getting in a fight with anyone, and Harry liked to drink at parties, but he didn’t really get into the other things.

Liam just hoped that he was okay, and went into the school, unable to do anything else for his best friend.

He attempted to call Harry’s mum, but no one answered the phone. That wasn’t surprising. Anne wasn’t usually home during the day.

Liam had practise after school. “Everyone‘s late once in a while,” his coach had told him. “Don’t worry about it too much, Liam.”

Liam called Harry’s house again after practise, before his shower. He was still sweaty, and his uniform stuck to his skin. He couldn’t wait for the next game. He didn’t like practise. It wasn’t challenging enough, and it was repetitive. He knew how to play, knew how to do his job. He didn’t really need it. Not that he’d ever miss it anyways, though.

“Hello?” Anne asked brightly. “Liam?”

Liam groaned. She sounded far too happy to have any idea what had happened to Harry. Both of them had a habit of ignoring messages on the phone. He’d talked to Harry about it hundreds of times.

“Um,” Liam ran a hand over his face. “You haven’t checked your messages, have you?” he asked, just to be sure.

Anne picked up on his tone instantly. “What’s wrong? He’s okay, right?”

“He’s fine,” Liam assured her. He wished he wasn’t the one doing this. “It’s just, erm, he got in a little trouble. At school. And--,”

“Is he suspended?” Anne asked, worry now gone from her tone. She sounded exasperated. “ _Again_?”

“Not exactly,” Liam admitted. “He may have been arrested? Possibly?”

“Arrested,” Anne repeated, and then there was a loud sound, like the phone falling to the ground. He could hear her making noises in the background and winced. “So dead!” he heard her shout. “Oh, he is _so_ dead.” A few moments later the phone was picked up again. “I’m heading down to the station now. Thank you for calling me, Liam.”

“No problem,” Liam told her. “I’ll meet you down there. I’ve got Harry’s homework.”

She sighed loudly. “I have half a mind to leave him there. Thank you again, Liam.”

He realized, after getting off the phone with her, that if he wanted to get there before Anne dragged Harry home and grounded him for the rest of his life, he was going to have to hurry. He changed back into his clothes and shoved his homework, along with what he’d gotten for Harry from the classes they were in together -- including an important reading assignment--, into his bag, and bolted out the doors of the school.

It wasn’t that long of a run. Ten minutes, at the most, but after a long practise, and the way his muscles had ached that morning, Liam knew he was going to be dead to the world tomorrow. Thankfully, tomorrow was a Saturday, at least, and he could sleep in a bit.

He got just out front of the police station as Anne dragged Harry out, what looked like a painfully hard grip on his arm. “-- and no phone privileges either. In fact, except for school and your community service hours, you’re not allowed to see _anyone_.”

“What about-- Liam!” Harry said loudly, spotting him.

Liam jogged up to them. “Fine, you can see Liam, but only because that boy is a better influence on you than--, oh, Liam.” She stopped in her tracks. “You should thank him, Harry, he’s the only reason you weren’t left there all night.”

Harry gave Liam a sheepish look. “You didn’t come to bring me my homework, did you?”

“Um,” Liam pulled the papers out of the bag. “Maybe?”

“I hate you,” Harry told him, but he took the work. “Thanks, by the way.”

“I’m getting in the car. You have a minute to talk to Liam and then your arse better be in the passenger seat, or so help me.” Harry nodded frantically, and Anne turned to Liam. “You need a ride home? We‘ve got to stop at the school first to pick up Harry’s car, anyways, and your house is on the way.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m fine to walk. I need the exercise anyhow,” he said, because he kind of didn’t want to be present for the chewing out Harry was no doubt going to get on the ride home.

Anne nodded and then headed towards her car.

Liam shoved his hands in his pockets. He felt sweaty and gross, but Harry didn’t notice or didn’t care. He hugged Liam tightly. “Really, though, thank you.”

Liam nodded. “What happened?” he asked, because he’d been wondering it all day.

Harry looked sheepish again. “Well, you know, this is actually all your fault.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “All my fault,” he repeated.

“Yeah, see, I rely on you to not let me do stupid shit. And you weren’t at school this morning, and I did stupid shit.” Harry told him. He ruffled his hair and then fixed it, something he did often. “I got caught in possession of marijuana,” Harry admitted, grimacing. “Not a lot, and they’re not charging me. I’ve got a ton of community service hours, though.”

Liam groaned. “ _Harry_.”

“Look at it this way,” Harry swung an arm over Liam’s shoulder. “This experience has not only scared me away from mind altering substances for the rest of my life, but it’s also made me wary enough to not do anything possibly illegal for a long, long time.”

“I thought you had an end of the year prank already planned out,” Liam pointed out, because they both knew that whatever Harry had in mind, it definitely wasn’t going to be legal.

“Yeah, like I said, a long, long time.”

Liam couldn’t help it, he laughed. As much as Harry gave him a headache a lot of the time, Harry was his best friend. Possibly only friend. And he sometimes enjoyed Harry’s antics. They were exciting and fun, both of which Liam really wasn’t.

He looked down at his watch. “I’ve got to get home, and you’ve got to get in that car before your mum drives over here and runs you over.”

“Think she would?” Harry asked, throwing a look over his shoulder to the car. They could both see Anne glaring at him, and Harry swallowed. “Yeah, she definitely would. I’ll see you Monday. I don’t think I’ll be allowed out of the house at all this weekend.”

Liam nodded and Harry walked away with one last wave.

The second Harry and Anne pulled away from the station, Liam’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and shifted his bag on his shoulder. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” his father demanded. “It’s-- almost five.”

Liam sighed. “I had something to do after school. I’ll be home soon.”

“Yes, you will be. We’re going to have a long talk about why you missed all your morning classes.”

Liam ran a hand through his hair. “Right, okay.”

“You can’t afford to do this, Liam, you know that,” his dad continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Your whole future depends on this. You can’t just slack off.”

_Slack off_ , Liam repeated in his mind. His dad thought he _slacked off_. “I’ll be home soon,” Liam said, and then hung up.

It wasn’t something he did ever, really. He was too polite, especially with his parents, but he couldn’t help it. After everything, his dad accused him of slacking off. When he had AP courses, and practise, and his own work out routine. When he never got to do anything fun because he’s always got to worry about staying out of trouble and staying healthy and in shape. When he’d given up everything, practically, but Harry, to work towards this goal that everyone else decided for him.

Play rugby, stay in shape, get good grades, stay out of trouble, get the scholarship, play for the University’s team, move on to play professionally. It was the only plans he’d ever had in life, the only guidelines. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want all that. He did. He wanted to make his parents and his coach happy. He just wished he could actually live his life while doing it.

 

* * *

 

**Louis**

Louis had just finished football practise when his phone rang loudly. He sprinted across the field to the bleachers, where his bag sat carelessly slung over one of the seats beside where Eleanor was sitting.

He pulled his phone out, not sparing a second to greet his girlfriend, which she looked sufficiently upset about, as he read the name on the screen. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her. Women were so high maintenance.

“Malik!” Louis said loudly. “How’s my favourite hoodrat?”

“Don’t call me that,” Zayn snapped, and Louis’ grin widened. He always felt good after practise. He knew he must have looked good out on the field, too, because El kept shooting glares at the other girls on the bleachers who’d been watching him. “Can you do me a favour?”

Louis switched the phone to the other ear and pulled his bag onto his shoulder. “Sure, what do you need?”

Zayn was Louis oldest friend. They’d lived in the same neighbourhood since they were five, and Zayn knew Louis better than anyone else, and Louis was probably the only person who actually knew Zayn at all.

When he was fourteen, Zayn’s parents kicked him out of the house. Louis didn’t have full details on that, and it was something Zayn still didn’t talk about. By normal standards, Zayn was not like Louis’ other friends. Louis’ friends all attended the same private school as he did. They all drove nice cars, and some of them had outfits that cost more than Zayn’s shitty apartment did.

Zayn was also the one person Louis would never judge about anything. He might look down his nose at other people, but Zayn was different, and if anyone else ever even attempted to look badly at Zayn because of his lifestyle, or his clothes, or anything, Louis would be the first person to put them in their place for it.

“I need a ride, actually,” Zayn said slowly. “To the police station.”

Louis raised his eyebrows and mouthed to Eleanor, “Need to drive Zayn somewhere.” She let out a huff of breath and stomped off the bleachers, her gaggle of friends following behind her. Louis knew she was upset but he also knew that she’d be over it by the beginning of tonight’s party. That’s just how their relationship worked.

“The police station,” Louis repeated. “Zayn, you haven’t got yourself arrested, have you? I really don’t think jumpsuit orange would be a good colour on you.” Not that that was strictly true. It would probably be a great colour on him, actually, Louis thought to himself as he headed off the pitch towards the car lot.

“No,” Zayn said, sounding annoyed. That was just Zayn’s default tone, though. “I just-- I may have sold to some kid from Verton, and I think he may have gotten into a bit of trouble.”

“You’re going to check up on this kid?” Louis demanded, heading towards his car. “Really?”

Zayn sighed. “I just want to make sure he doesn’t get me in any shit,” he said, but Louis could tell he was lying.

“You’re worried about someone else,” Louis told him. “That’s so adorable, Zayn, you’re finally getting a heart.”

“Shut up, Louis,” Zayn snapped. “Are you coming or not?”

Louis rolled his eyes, though Zayn couldn’t see it. “Yes, yes, I’m coming. Where are you?”

“At my place, I’ll be downstairs when you get here.”

“See you then,” Louis agreed, ending the call. He threw his bag into the passenger seat of his Porsche Boxter. It had been a more than extravagant gift from his father last year for not telling anyone -- but Zayn-- about the woman he’d caught him in bed with.

He was aware that it wasn’t exactly morally correct, but the way he looked at it, his father was being punished by forking out the money for the car, their marriage was being kept together, and Louis was _getting_ said new car. It was a win-win situation for everyone involved.

Zayn’s apartment was on the other side of town. Louis resisted the urge to roll up the windows on his way through the neighbourhood, because it made Zayn snap at him. (“You’re not going to get mugged,” Zayn would say angrily.

“You never know,” Louis always said back.)

Just as promised, Zayn was standing out front, hands buried deeply into his pockets, a scowl on his face.

Despite what everyone might assume, Zayn wasn’t always such a prick. When he was younger, he’d been loud and hilarious, though admittedly an idiot. Even now, occasionally, Zayn would come over when Louis’ parents were out and Zayn would smoke a joint and they’d hang out and Zayn would laugh or dance to shitty R&B and just let himself go. No one else really saw that side to him, though.

“Thanks,” Zayn said, sliding into the passenger seat after throwing Louis’ bag into the back. “You had practise today?” he realized, taking in Louis, still in his uniform.

Louis gave him an annoyed look. “You really need to pay more attention to my life, Zayn. I have practise every Friday, and I have, sixth months out of the year, for the past six years.”

“Huh,” Zayn said, reaching for the radio dial. Louis slapped his hand away.

“What are you even going to say to this guy? ’Hey, I know you bought some weed off me and then got busted, just wanted to make sure you’re okay and you don’t give my name to the cops’?”

Zayn glared at him. “No,” he said. “I’m just going to-- I don’t know. I’m not worried about him giving them my name. He doesn’t even know me, I only went to him through Steve.”

Louis clucked his tongue but didn’t comment on that. More than once he’d considered going to one of the school’s rugby players and offering them a hundred quid to threaten Steve into staying away from Zayn, but it wasn’t his place, and Zayn would be pissed at him for it. But Louis hated Steve with a passion.

He knew, without any doubt, that it was Steve who had gotten Zayn into selling, and it was Steve who’d somehow convinced Zayn that he’d never be able to anything better. No matter how many times Louis offered, “I can get you a job somewhere, mate, and you can sleep in the guest bed until then,” Zayn refused. Because Zayn didn’t think he _could_ do better, and Zayn was also the type of person who refused handouts.

And he thought that he belonged in the life he had. Louis disagreed. Zayn was smart, when he applied himself, and he was talented. He just needed guidance. Sadly, Zayn refused to take any.

“I guess we’ll just see when we get there,” Louis said finally. “Maybe you won’t even see him.”

Louis was wrong. When they pulled up in front of the station, there were two teenage boys standing out front. One with a messy mop of brown curls, another with slightly shorter, slightly less curly hair.

“That’s him,” Zayn said, pointing to the taller one, with the bigger head of curls.

Louis looked him over and tapped his fingers impatiently on the dashboard. “So, are you going to go talk to him?”

Just as he said it, both boys turned around to look at a car behind them where a woman with a frightening scowl on her face sat. The taller one walked away, towards the car.

“Well, looks like you missed your opportunity,” Louis commented.

Zayn was still staring out the window. “Pull up to the other one,” he ordered.

It wasn’t until they pulled up along side the boy with the broader shoulders and the sweat soaked hair -- what had he done, run all the way to the station?-- and Zayn ran a hand through his own hair, that Louis realized this was no longer about checking up on the other boy, but something else altogether.

“Hey, babe,” Zayn called out the window.

Louis rolled his eyes. The other boy kept walking as if Zayn hadn’t spoken, and Louis drove slowly beside him, Zayn hanging out his window.

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Louis honked the horn loudly.

The boy startled and looked over at them. Louis didn’t think much of his appearance -- brown eyes, brown hair, tanned skin-- but Zayn, on the other hand, gave him a very suggestive once over.

If you asked about Zayn’s sexuality, you wouldn’t get an answer. That was something Louis had learned over the years. On the best day the only reply you would get is, “I don’t like men or women. I like sex,” and that was that.

Louis stopped driving and the brown eyed boy looked at them, confused. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sure you could,” Zayn said unhelpfully.

“Your friend there,” Louis said, leaning over the seat divider. “What’s his name again?”

“Harry,” Zayn supplied, not taking his eyes off the other boy.

“Right, Harry. See, my friend here sold him something earlier today, and he just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t really think that’s any of your business,” he said, and then he started walking away.

“What’s your name?” Zayn called out the window.

Louis slapped him on the back of the head. The other boy didn’t answer, and a car honked behind them. Louis drove forward, and Zayn sunk back into his seat.

“Well, that was pointless,” Louis commented.

Zayn shrugged. “Or not.”

“He wasn’t even that attractive,” Louis said idly, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Yeah, but you like girls, don’t you? So your opinion doesn’t really count,” Zayn told him.

“You want to come over for a bit?” Louis asked, changing the subject. “I’m having a party tonight.”

“Maybe,” Zayn said vaguely. “Might have some other things to do.”

In the end, Louis dropped Zayn off at his apartment again and headed home. It didn’t take him long to set everything up for the party. All he had to do was pick up a bit of alcohol on the way home and make sure that anything too expensive and breakable was put away.

Four hours later, he couldn’t really hear much over the pounding of the music, and everything was a little blurry from the vodka-- or was it rum? Whatever, he didn’t really care. There was a pink stain on the white carpet from _something_ , a couple making out a little too intimately on the couch, and people dancing everywhere.

“Where’d you go today with Zayn?” Eleanor asked, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

“Nowhere important,” Louis assured her.

El scoffed. “That’s what you always say, and yet you always ditch me off to run and do whatever _Zayn Malik_ wants.”

“Can we not do this right now?’ Louis asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“When do you suggest we do this, then?”

Louis turned and put a hand on her waist. Her eyes narrowed for a moment before softening. “I’m sorry,” he told her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him in closer. “Me too.”

And that, Louis thought, pretty much summed up their entire relationship. Fighting and apologizing and then putting on a smile because other people were always too interested in everyone else’s relationships.

 

* * *

 

**Harry**

 

“And the DVD player,” his mum added, crossing her arms over her chest. “Hand over the cords.”

Harry rolled his eyes and reached behind his TV to pull out the cords that connected the TV to the DVD player and handed them to her.

“Good,” she said, folding them in her hands. “I hope you take a moment to think long and hard about your decisions, Harry. Bringing pot to school! What were you even thinking?”

He couldn’t bother with the protest of, “It wasn’t even for me!” for the hundredth time. It didn’t matter. He knew he was guilty, and his mum sure as hell knew it. Either way, he was grounded for a month, on top of having to do community service work.

That, at least, wasn’t going to be too bad, because apparently Niall had it too. Not that he and Niall were exactly friends, but he didn’t mind the guy. He was funny and kind of light hearted about everything.

“I called your father,” his mother said at last, sighing. He watched as she brushed a bit of hair off her face, refusing to look at him. The words didn’t really register at first.

“You what?” Harry demanded, shaking his head so fast his curls moved. “No,” he said, as if denying it would make it any less true . “No you didn’t.”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” his mother said more firmly. “He deserves to know, Harry, that you’re-- you’re out getting arrested!”

Harry sunk down onto his bed and put his head in his hands. Of all the punishments, she had to go with the worst: calling his father.

“We’ve decided that it might be best for you to stay there for a while,” his mother said slowly. “It’s not set in stone yet, but we both think that you need a bit more structure in your life, and you’re obviously-- obviously not getting it here.”

Her voice cracked, and both guilt and anger fought with each other inside of him. He wanted to get up and hug her and tell her that it’s not her parenting. She was a great mother, Harry was just… Harry. But there was also the anger, urging him to shout and throw thing, to storm out of the house while flinging angry words over his shoulder.

Instead, he grabbed the blanket off his bed and pulled it over his head. He starting humming under his breath, some song that he couldn’t remember the words to -- he’d have to look it up later--, so that he could drown out the rest of her words. He didn’t want to hear them, and he also didn’t want to fight with her. He just wanted to sleep until this all blew over and life went back to normal.

Eventually his mum gave up and left, shutting the door softly behind herself. He knew that she hated yelling at him, but he also knew that he deserved it. Still, threatening to send him to live with his dad was a bit much, by any standards.

He groaned and reached for his phone on the bedside table, deciding to call Liam to get everything off his chest, because Liam was a good listener and he was also level headed enough to calm Harry down, but his fingers found nothing except books and pens and the Nirvana Unplugged CD he’d left there. He forgot. His mum took his phone.

Harry grabbed his pillow and covered his face with it, only so that it would drown out his loud scream of frustration.

He didn’t do well with grounding. It wasn’t like it was his first time. Over the years, Harry figured he’d been grounded more often than not. It’s just that he was the kind of person who had issues sitting still. He liked to be out, or at least doing _something_ to distract his mind from the fact that he wasn’t actually doing anything, really.

“You can come get your dinner and eat it in your room!” his mum called.

“I’m not hungry!” Harry shouted back.

“Harry Edward Styles, you get your arse down here, or I swear--,”

“I’m coming!” he snapped, swinging his legs out of bed. His attitude definitely wasn’t helping the situation, but he couldn’t seem to turn it off as he trudged down the stairs.

He ran a hand through his hair as he walked into the kitchen, the smell of some kind of meat frying invading his senses. He took a deep breath and was about to tell his mom that it smelled good when his eyes landed on his father.

“Harry,” his father said calmly from where he was seated at their kitchen table. ‘Their’ as in Harry and his mum’s. Not _his._ He didn’t have a right to be sitting there at all, and it made Harry irrationally angry.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

He turned to look at his mum, who was busying herself with the meat in the pan. She fidgeted and pushed her hair off her face more times than necessary. It was a nervous habit, one that Harry had inherited from her.

“Well, your mother called me--,” his father started.

“I didn’t tell you to come,” his mum said quietly.

“Yes, well, I thought that it might be best if I did.” His father spoke firmly in a way that he said he figured he could handle the situation much better than Anne could. “I think that you should come stay with me for a bit.”

Harry looked to his mum and she bit her lip while not meeting either of their eyes. “I said I’d think about it.”

“I won’t go,” Harry said instantly. “No, mum, seriously, don’t do this. Don’t make me go live with him. I’ll-- I’ll--,”

“Get arrested again?” his father asked coolly.

“They didn’t actually press charges,” his mum cut in, but her voice was frail and she didn’t speak with conviction.

“Still, Harry, honestly. What were you thinking?”

Harry shook his head and tried his best to ignore the man that didn’t even have a right to be in this conversation. “Mum, you can’t send me to live with him. You--,”

“I can, actually,” his mother told him, though she looked like she really didn’t want to. “I can’t control you anymore, Harry. I don’t know what’s gotten into you in the last couple years, but I think that maybe you’re lacking in a male parental figure. I can only do so much, and obviously my best isn’t the best for you.”

“It is,” Harry assured her. “Mum, it is. I promise. This-- it had nothing to do with you! You’re great!”

His father stood up. “I’ll be here to pick you up on Sunday,” he said to Harry, and then turned to Anne. “You can make up your mind on this in the mean time, but I suggest you take my guidance in this. Harry needs structure. He’s getting out of hand.”

“I’ll think about it,” Anne told him in a clipped tone.

His father clapped him on the shoulder as he went by. “Son,” he added.

“Don’t call me that,” Harry snapped, pulling away from him. “And I’m not hungry!” he yelled over his shoulder as he ran up the stairs. He slammed his bedroom door hard enough that it shook the lamp on his bed side table. At the last second Harry reached out and swiped it off the table. It didn’t even break when it hit the carpeted ground. “Figures,” Harry muttered.

The only thing his mum hadn’t taken away from his was his iPod, and he pulled it out, hitting ‘Shuffle Songs’. The opening beats of Rage Against the Machine’s _Born of a Broken Man_ played, and he didn’t bother changing the song. He couldn’t even remember downloading that particular song, but right now, he didn’t regret it. It was a lot angrier than most of the music he normally listened to. It was almost fitting to his mood.

Eventually the music didn’t help, and he got out of bed. He kept the iPod on, skipping every couple of songs until he found ones that fit how he felt. He grabbed his duffel bag from his closet and then opened his dresser drawers. He didn’t fold anything, and he didn’t even really pay any attention to what he was throwing from his dresser onto his bed, or from his bed into his bag.

At one point his mother walked in, her lips pursed, as if she were angry, but her eyebrows were drawn together in concern-- or pity. “Only for a few weeks,” she said quietly. “If your behaviour improves-- if you stay out of trouble, you can come home after winter holidays. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like your minds already made up,” Harry said, not pulling his eyes away from his clothes.

“Oh, Harry,” his mum sighed. When he paused for long enough she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m not doing this to make you suffer.”

He put his headphones back in, signalling the end the conversation. She pulled the door closed behind herself, leaving him to it. He wished she didn’t. He wished she’d of stayed and yelled at him. He wished she’d maybe slap him, the way she had, only once, when he was fourteen and he’d been fighting with Gemma and had called her a slut.

Instead, she was pushing him away to live with his father. No longer her concern. Not bothering to ask Harry if he thought it would be helpful, which he _didn’t_. In the end, it would be more damaging for all of them, because he _hated_ his father, and he wasn’t sure if he could forgive her for making him stay there.

For the first twelve years of Harry’s life, it had always just been him, his mum, and Gemma. He’d asked about his father, he’d wondered why his best friend Liam had a mum and a dad, and he didn’t. His mother had always told him it was because she loved him enough for two parents. When he got older, though, she started to admit that it was because his father hadn’t wanted to be involved in their lives, and that they were better off without him, anyways. She had Harry and Gemma when she was young, and his father had apparently not wanted children at all, but had stuck around for the first couple years of Gemma’s life, and the first of Harry’s, until he’d admitted that it was too much for him to handle.

When he was thirteen, his father came to his birthday party. Then he was there at Christmas. He was there for the next two years, at one point he practically lived with them, even though Harry knew that he had his own house, a big one with a pool and everything on the good side of town. He was a constant in Harry’s life in a way he’d never been before.

And then he wasn’t again, when Harry was fifteen. He’d just disappeared for a long time, not bothering to call or check in or send gifts on the holidays. And when he decided he wanted to come back into their lives when Harry was sixteen, and Gemma had went off to Uni, Harry decided that he didn’t want him back. It wasn’t fair for him to just be in their lives whenever it was convenient for him, and Harry told him that he’d rather not have his father in his life at all than have him in it part time, temporarily. Harry’s mum had agreed, though she kept in touch with him, and Harry didn’t.

Spending that two years with them apparently gave him the idea that he should have some part in how Harry was being raised, though, and by court order his mother had to keep him informed on Harry’s health and how he was doing in school and the such. He tried to force them into visits, but Harry was at an age where he was allowed to say no to them, and he had.

Eventually Harry fell asleep in his messy room. Normally, he kept it extremely organized for someone his age. Right then, though, he didn’t give a fuck that his floor was covered in discarded clothes and his lamp. He didn’t care that one of his pillows was on the floor. He just wanted to sleep, knowing he was missing one of the biggest parties of the year, and was going to miss a lot more than that over the next couple months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already got 9 out of what will (most likely) be eleven chapters of this done. Each chapter will be around 10000 words (though one is a bit shorter than that, and a few are a bit longer) and each chapter will have the point of view from each of the boys, like this one. Any and all reviews are not only appreciated but begged for. Thank you for reading! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Harry**

At exactly twelve on Sunday, a bright red sports car pulled up in front of his house. Harry stared out the window, watching as his father -- dressed in a simple white button down and a pair of dress pants-- walked up the front walk and knocked on the door. At the last minute he raised his head and spotted Harry looking out the window. Harry pulled back and tugged the curtains closed.

He could hear his mother downstairs, dishes clanking as she made a tea for herself and a coffee for his dad. He could faintly hear his father’s voice, just not the words he was saying. His mother didn’t call him down yet, and he hoped that meant that she’d changed her mind.

Sadly, the sound of footsteps started on the stairs, and then headed towards his room. Harry crossed his arms over his chest and faced the door, a neutral expression on his face.

“Your father’s here,” his mum said simply. She leaned against the doorway. “I’ve made my decision.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“And,” she sighed and brushed her dark hair off her face, “I’ve decided that it’s best for you to stay with him, just until Christmas.”

Harry nodded and grabbed his bag from where it lay at the end of his bed. He’d spent Saturday cleaning his room, and now it was completely spotless, the only thing on his floor being the bag that held all his clothing and important items.

He shouldered the bag and walked past her without another word.

“Harry,” she called after him, but Harry quickly moved down the stairs. He ignored his dad standing in the doorway to the kitchen, too, and slammed the front door behind himself.

He threw his bag into the stupidly small sports car. Honestly, it barely had a backseat. Where was the sense in cars costing more the smaller they got?

He waited in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, out the front window. His father stayed inside for a bit, probably chatting with his mum. The longer he took, the stronger his anger got. His fingers fiddled with the radio dials, even though the car wasn’t on so it didn’t really do anything.

Eventually, _finally_ , the front door opened and his father walked out of the house. His mum stood in the doorway, a sad expression on his face. He knew, deep down, that she was as unhappy about this as he was. He knew that she’d miss him, and that the only reason she was doing this was because she honestly thought he’d benefit from it. And maybe, later on, he would be able to see it that way. But right then, he was just furious with everything and everyone.

“Got all your things?” his father asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Obviously,” Harry told him.

His father didn’t start the car, but instead turned his body so that he was completely facing Harry. “First thing, that attitude is not going to be tolerated in my home, do you understand?”

Harry nodded, not looking at him.

“Good, and second, there are going to be strict rules. You have an eight o’clock curfew, and you can’t have your phone back,” he continued.

“Am I being punished or kidnapped?” Harry spat.

His father sighed. “You act like I’m cutting off one of your limbs, Harry. It’s not going to be that bad. You’ll have your own bedroom, and I have a pool, and your mother mentioned that you love music, and there’s a top of the line system in your room--,”

“Kidnapping _and_ attempting to buy my love. We’re off to a wonderful start.”

His father’s eyes narrowed, but he obviously realized that attempting to have a conversation wasn’t going to work, so he started the car and pulled away from the house too quickly, tired squeaking loudly on the asphalt.

The drive was silent and Harry ached to turn on the radio, just to have some kind of sound. He constantly filled his life with music, whether it was loudly blasting in his ears through his headphones, or it was pounding and pulsing at a party, deafening at a concert, or just playing softly in the background, it was always there. Silence drove him crazy. It was so loud and distracting.

He left most of his CD’s at home. He had a huge collection. Harry liked all music, mostly. He never stuck to one genre or artist. One minute, he’d be listening to his favourite All Time Low song, the next Katy Perry would be belting out the lyrics to Firework.

“You know,” his father said, again trying to strike up conversation. “The Tomlinson’s live a few houses down from me. They have a son your age, I think, Louis. He goes to Winston.”

Winston was the name of the private school on the other side of town, closer to where his father lived. He’d seen the place a few times, had attended a couple of Liam’s rugby games there. He’d also attended a handful of parties thrown by kids from Winston, but he preferred to avoid them. Whoever said that drugs were a bigger issue in public schools was wrong. The private school kids could afford the more expensive, heavier drugs, and they’d circulated around every one of the parties he’d been to up there. It definitely wasn’t his scene.

Harry made a noncommittal sound, and his father took that as an encouragement to continue. “I could introduce you, if you like.”

“Have you even thought about how I’m supposed to get to school?” Harry demanded.

“I’ll drive you and pick you up,” his father answered easily.

“This is so bullshit,” Harry muttered, turning to look out the window as they entered a community of huge, extravagant houses.

“Watch your mouth,” his father warned.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Eventually they pulled up in front of one of the smaller houses in the neighbourhood, and his father put the car into park. It wasn’t the first time Harry had been to his house, but it was the first time in a few years. It looked the exact same, and once again he wondered why the hell his father had such a big house, all for himself. It was a waste.

Suddenly the front door to the house burst open, and a women walked out. She had long golden hair and too red lips that matched the short, tight red dress and heels she was wearing.

“Who the hell is that?” Harry asked, frowning as she came closer to the car.

“That,” his father said, pushing open his door. “Is Yvette. My fiancé.”

“Hello!” Yvette called cheerfully. She bent down to look at Harry through his father’s open door. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Harry. Your dad’s told me so much about you.”

“Wish I could return the sentiment,” Harry told her, reaching behind him to grab his bag. He didn’t miss the flash of confusion on Yvette’s pretty but plastic-looking face.

“Don’t worry about him,” he heard his father say quietly. “He’s not exactly happy about the current arrangements.”

Harry snorted and got out of the car. “Which room’s mine?” he asked, averting his eyes as his father kissed Yvette’s cheek.

“Second on the left,” Yvette said helpfully.

Harry walked to the house without another word, not waiting for either of them. He shut the door between them and didn’t bother to kick off his shoes before heading up the stairs. There were noticeable spots on the white carpet from his shoes, and he smirked at that.

He didn’t look around the house. He went straight to his room and shut the door behind himself, checking first to see if there was a lock on the door. Unfortunately, there wasn’t. He sighed and surveyed the room.

The walls were white, as was the comforter on the bed. The floor was dark wood, covered in a navy blue carpet that matched all the accessories in the room, including the pillows on the bed.

Just as his father had said, there was a huge sound system on top of the dresser, and Harry walked over to it, fingers skimming over the plastic and metal. Despite how shitty he felt about the whole situation, he couldn’t help but brighten at the prospect of really getting to test out that system once his dad left the house for a bit.

The rest of the room was pretty impersonal. No matter what attempts his father made to make it more homey -- like the framed picture of the two of them at Harry’s thirteenth birthday that sat on bedside table--, it still felt like more of a hotel room than a bedroom.

Harry put his bag on the bed and reached into the bottom to pull out his CD’s. He put one in the system -- the Paper Route album, Peace of the Wild Things-- and let it play quietly while he put his clothes away. He figured that his father and Yvette must have come in, but he didn’t hear them over the faintly playing music. He knew it was just a matter of time before his father came upstairs to check on him, though.

Just as he suspected, a few moments later someone knocked on his door. Harry didn’t answer it. Eventually, his father just walked in.

“I see you’ve already figured out how to work that thing,” his father said, nodding towards the stereo system.

Harry shrugged.

“Right, well, Yvette’s making a special ‘Welcome to the home’ dinner for tonight. We eat at six, so don’t forget to be down around then.”

“And what am I supposed to do in the mean time?” Harry asked. He’d already gotten almost all his clothes put in either the dresser or the closet.

His father shrugged. “I’m not condemning you to your room the way your mother did. If you want to get out and go for walk, be my guest. Be home by six, though, or that privilege will be taken away from you.”

Harry snatched his iPod out of his bag and shouldered past his father. He paused halfway out the door, spotting the phone sitting on the small table in the hallway. He reached for it, fingers easily dialling the familiar number.

Liam answered on the second ring, as he always did. Good, reliable Liam. “Hello,” Liam said, confusion in his tone.

“It’s Harry,” he said quickly. “D’you think you could borrow your dad’s car and come pick me up?”

He could hear the crinkling sound of a hand covering the receiver. His father raised his eyebrows at him as he walked down the stairs, and Harry turned away from him. A moment later, Liam was back.

“Yeah, he said it’s fine,” Liam told him. “But I thought you were grounded until the day you died.”

Harry normally would have laughed, but he didn’t really find anything funny about the situation at the moment. “Yeah, I’ll tell you when I get here. I’m-- I’m not at home.”

Liam was quiet for a beat. “Did you run away?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

That he couldn’t help but laugh at. “No, Liam, I didn’t run away. I’m at my father’s. I’ll tell you when you get here,” he repeated, and then rattled off the address.

“I’ll be there in about fifteen,” Liam told him.

Harry put his headphones in as he walked out the front door. He turned the volume up until it was nearly deafening, and then stood near the sidewalk and waited, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a car coming and looked over, hoping that Liam somehow found a way to get there quicker than should have been possible. It wasn’t Liam. The car was shiny and sleek and definitely expensive. It pulled into a lot a few houses down from where he stood and a boy, carrying a set of keys in his mouth and bags in his hands, got out.

Harry watched as the boy dropped one of the bags and let out a loud “Shit!” muffled by the keys in his mouth, and then bent down to retrieve it. He didn’t notice Harry watching him, and he made it into the sprawling house without dropping anything else.

“Huh,” Harry murmured to himself. Maybe he would have his father introduce him to the Tomlinson’s after all.

 

* * *

**Niall**

 

Community service sucked. He’d gotten sixty hours of it, on top of a week-and-a-half long suspension. He’d thought that being suspended would be a good thing, after everything that had happened at school, since it’d be nice to take a few days off. He hadn’t really thought that through, much. Hadn’t realized that it meant spending all day at home with his dad while his mum worked.

Currently, he was set to clean the park a few minutes away from school. Harry was with him, at least, though he seemed to be in just as bad of a mood as Niall, though Niall didn’t ask him what was wrong.

“What happened to your face?” Harry had asked him when they’d first gotten there. He had reached up to touch his own face, gently prodding at his unmarked skin, signalling what he meant.

Now, Niall did that, too, though no one was around to see it. The skin around his left eye was puffy, and he knew that it was a disgusting purple and yellow bruise. Normally, his dad was good about not hitting him in the face. That was something reserved only for when Niall did something _actually_ bad, such as nearly getting arrested for fighting at school.

The work was boring and repetitive. Pick up garbage, put it in bag. Fill bag, tie it off and put it in a pile near the bench, where the person who was over watching their work would pick it up two hours later, when they were scheduled to be finished.

“Do you want to go get lunch?” Harry asked.

Niall turned. He hadn’t heard the other boy come up behind him.

Harry raised his eyebrows and ran a hand through his hair with one hand, while the other dug into his tight jeans and pulled out money. “My dad’s trying to buy my affection, apparently. Not that I’m complaining about the twenty quid he gave me for lunch. I’ll buy.”

“Sure,” Niall agreed, because he didn’t have money for lunch himself. He grinned, because no matter how crap he felt, that’s just the kind of person he was. “As long as you’re buying.”

“’s not so bad, is it?” Harry asked as they walked in the direction of the nearest McDonald’s. It wasn’t far from the park, or their school, and sometimes Niall and his friends would head there at lunch instead of staying in the cafeteria. “I mean, it’s obviously not, like, ideal, but it’s not terrible.”

Niall shrugged. “Better than jail, I reckon.”

Harry laughed, but Niall remembered when they’d both actually been put in a cell. It had been terrifying, and he was pretty sure Harry had cried, though he didn’t mention it.

“I think they just did that to scare us into not breaking the law again,” Harry told him.

“Probably,” Niall agreed.

Harry pushed open the door to the restaurant and held it open for Niall, who ducked past him. Harry ordered a burger and a drink for himself, and Niall got the same as him. The two took their food and sat down at a booth across from each other.

They ate in silence for a few minutes until Harry asked, “So, why did you do it? Punch Jake, I mean.”

Niall took a sip of his drink and shrugged. “Mostly ‘cause I got him making out with my girlfriend,” he explained. “But also because it’s something I’ve been meaning to do for a year or so, now.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I get that. Jake’s a prick.”

Niall nodded.

“So then why do you hang out with him?” Harry questioned. “I mean, no offence or anything, but a lot of the guys you hang out with are pricks.”

Niall took a moment to think that through, because he couldn’t deny it. Harry was right. “I don’t know,” Niall admitted. “Because they’re my friends, and I guess it’s better to be friends with people you hate than not be friends with anyone.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Maybe,” he said, but it didn’t sound like he meant it.

“They were my friends when I first moved here, and I guess they just kind of stuck.”

Harry chuckled. “ _That_ , I understand.”

Harry didn’t press the subject after that, and Niall didn’t bring it up again, either. They ate the rest of their lunch talking about other things, like class, and what girls they thought were attractive, and how shit Andrew Scott’s party had been last month.

Niall liked Harry, a lot more than he liked most of the people he’d normally hang out with. Harry was relaxed and friendly, and instead of judging some of the stories Niall told, or things he said, he’d laugh and tell some of his own.

They had community service three times a week, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, from four until six. Over the course of that week, Harry bought them lunch every day, and they’d hang out and chat and eat. On Friday, Harry borrowed Niall’s phone to send a text, inviting his friend Liam.

Niall had a hard time remembering exactly who Liam was. He’d seen him around with Harry a few times, but Niall hadn’t really paid attention to him.

When he walked in, though, Niall faintly recognized the brown eyes and medium length brown curls. He was pretty sure Liam played on one of the school teams, but he couldn’t remember which.

Liam ordered himself something before sitting down beside Harry, across from Niall. “Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” Niall greeted.

“Liam!” Harry said loudly, and threw his arms around the boy.

“Get off,” Liam said, pushing Harry away, but he was laughing.

“Niall, this is Liam,” Harry said. “Liam, this is Niall. He punched Jake Richards in the face and now we’re community service buddies.”

Liam raised his eyebrows. “Oh,” he said.

“You know Jake, right, the guy’s a douche--,”

“I know who he is.” Liam cut Harry off, tone neutral but eyes on the food in front of him.

Niall looked between the two of them, at the realization dawning on Harry’s face and Liam’s uncomfortable looking posture.

“You only started here two years ago, so you didn’t know them then. See,” Harry started, though Liam shot him a look that clearly told him to shut up. “Liam was kind of dorky when he was younger.”

“I was a loser,” Liam put in.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he brushed it off. “When I moved here, we were twelve, and Liam’s parents-- Liam’s parents are really cruel, and he constantly had a buzz cut. And see, this was when he was younger, right? And he had these huge ears and these huge eyes and this huge nose, okay, and the other kids kind of liked to bully him. Your friend Jake,” Harry pointed a chip at him. “Was one of the assholes who liked to make Liam’s life hell.”

Niall didn’t know what to say to that, but he kind of wanted to punch Jake again, this time for Liam’s sake.

“Until Harry transferred, and then they kind of bugged off a bit,” Liam said slowly. He shrugged, like it didn’t bother him anymore, but his lips were in a tight line.

“You make it sound like I was some big hero,” Harry told him, bumping his shoulder into Liam’s. “You know I was just as dorky as you were.” He turned to Niall. “I looked like an adult baby. Thankfully, we both grew up into sexy young men, eh Liam?”

Liam nearly choked on his drink, and Niall found himself laughing and genuinely enjoying their company more than he had anyone’s in a long time.

“What about you?” Liam asked. “Were you always popular?”

Niall shrugged. “I guess,” he said slowly. “I’ve always had a lot of friends.”

“Friends don’t punch each other in the face,” Harry pointed out.

“I don’t know,” Liam said, a look of contemplation on his face. “I want to punch you in the face a lot of the time.”

Niall chuckled. “They’re not all like Jake,” he admitted. “Greg’s not bad.”

“Okay,” Harry leaned forward in his seat, elbows on the table between them. “Say it’s two in the morning, you’re completely smashed, and you’re at a club. These two guys are starting something with you, and they ask you to take the fight outside. Who would you call to help you out?”

Niall frowned and thought. He wouldn’t call Greg, because Greg would just tell him to deal with it himself. He wouldn’t call Jake, for obvious reasons. There were a few other people in their group, like Mark and Charlie and Andrew, and he had all their numbers, but he wouldn’t call any of them, either, because even if they did come, chances are they wouldn’t help.

“I don’t know.”

“See?” Harry said, like he’d just discovered the meaning of life. “I’d call Liam, no hesitation, because Liam’s my mate, and he’d be there. What you need is _real_ friends.”

He should have been a bit offended by that, because Harry really didn’t know his life, and he was making assumptions about it. He couldn’t deny any of what Harry was saying, though.

“Give me your phone,” Harry said, holding out his hand. Niall handed it over without question, and Harry started typing on it. “There, you’ve got Liam’s number now, and mine, but I won’t have mine back for who knows how long,” he said, sliding the phone back across the table to Niall. “Now you have two people to call at two in the morning when you need your friends.”

Liam sipped his drink, not protesting this, and Harry was grinning his normal, relaxed grin, and Niall stared down at the phone, wondering why the hell he felt choked up all of a sudden. It started to make sense to him, them, why Harry seemed to be friends with everyone. He was just that kind of person, easy going to easy to get along with.

They had to get back to the park for the last half hour of their community service for that day after lunch. Liam offered to come help them out. They ended up finishing earlier than usual, and had fifteen minutes of downtime until Paul, the guy who checked in on them every once in a while and told them when they could go, showed up.

The thing was, Niall had more fun hanging out with Harry and Liam that afternoon than he could remember having with his other friends in a long time. There was no judgement or trying to act cool. Liam called his parents at one point just to check in and everything. It was just easy and relaxing.

“What are you guys doing tomorrow night?” Niall found himself asking.

Harry made a face. “I’ve got an eight o’clock curfew, so not much, sadly. And Liam never has plans.” He was sitting on the bench, fingers drumming out a beat Niall didn’t recognize on his legs.

Niall nodded. He’d gotten the text yesterday night from Louis. He and Louis weren’t friends, not in the way that he was with Greg or Maria or them, but they went to each other’s parties occasionally. Louis went to Winston, and usually the rich kids didn’t attend parties on the other side of town, unless they felt like ‘slumming’ it. When they did, they tended to party with Niall and his friends. In turn, Niall and them got invited to the occasional party uptown, though Niall knew that he was invited more often than the others, because people generally seemed to like him better.

“Well, there’s this party uptown, on George street, a friend of mine--,”

“George street?” Harry asked, cutting him off. “The guy throwing the party, does he have, like,” Harry reached up and pulled his hair tight against this forehead, facing the left, “styled hair?”

“Uh,” Niall tried to remember if Louis’ hair looked like that. He supposed it kind of did. “Yeah, I guess?”

“My father lives, like, three houses down from him,” Harry said.

Niall frowned. He didn’t know Harry lived uptown, he’d never mentioned it.

“So you think you could come?”

“Definitely,” Harry said swiftly. “My father’s been trying to introduce me to the neighbours. I bet he’ll have a field day if I go to one if his rich people parties.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be one of those parties,” Niall told him.

Harry shrugged. “Whatever, I’ll be there. You can meet us at my place,” he said before telling Niall the address. “What about you Liam?”

Liam had taken a few steps away from them during the conversation, and he had an apologetic look on his face. “I can’t.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can. Just tell your dad you’re staying at my place.”

Liam didn’t look convinced, and he turned to Niall, like he was trying to reason with him. “I don’t party,” he said quickly. “Not my thing.”

Niall shrugged. “We can always leave early if you want.”

Liam gave Harry a helpless look, but Harry looked determined. “That’s settled then. We’re going.”

 

* * *

 

**Liam**

On Saturday, Liam woke up at seven in the morning. That was sleeping in, for him. It wasn’t even a conscious decision to get up at that time. His body was just so used to it that it woke up naturally.

He climbed out of bed, pulled off his t-shirt and put it in the hamper. He added his boxers, next, and then padded over to the dresser. His running clothes were already set out on top of, neatly folded, by him the night before. He pulled them on and grabbed his iPod from where it lay beside the clothes, headphones wrapped around it so that they didn’t get tangled.

He clipped the iPod to his shirt and put his headphones in. He had a select play list just for Saturday runs, and he pulled it up, letting the beat of Faber Drive’s _Payoff_ drown out the world around him.

Downstairs, he stopped just long enough to open a bottle of water and take a few large sips of it, and quickly ate an apple. When he was done he’d have a more substantial breakfast, but for now that was all he could stomach. Liam was the kind of person who couldn’t workout on a full stomach. The only times he’d tried he’d ended up throwing up everything he ate, and he’d learned from that mistake.

Seven a.m. on a Saturday was much different from seven in the morning on a weekday. Most of the people in his neighbourhood had weekdays off, and houses that were normally alight with people getting ready for school or work were currently dark.

He started jogging down the street as the music played in his ears. It was a bit chilly out, and the streetlights were still on. When he got to a busier street, a few cars passed him, but not as many as there would be during the day.

He passed by the park that he’d helped Harry and Niall clean the day before. There was already garbage littering the ground.

Liam hadn’t thought he’d like Niall much. He knew what Niall’s friends were like, had been the butt of their jokes more times than he could count when he was younger, when they’d call him Dumbo, or freak. Now that he was on the rugby team, everyone had backed off. The fact that he was the exact same person on the inside didn’t matter. Now he was the best player in the school, and while that didn’t at all make him popular -- especially not when Liam refused to go to any parties, or hang out with the team at lunch-- it did give him a sort of free pass from every things else.

Niall hadn’t been like them, though. He kind of reminded Liam a lot of Harry, to be honest. Carefree and relaxed, though he probably had a mischievous side, just like Harry. The two of them got along well, not that Liam worried about losing his best friend to someone else. He used to worry about that, used to think that Harry would find someone cooler and more fun to hang out with. Harry was his best friend, though, and that had never happened.

He didn’t know how he felt about being roped into going to the party, though. Usually, he could get out of it. He’d been to exactly four parties since in the time he’d known Harry, and he’d hated them both. When he was sixteen, Harry had dragged him to Marlene’s party, where he’d had his first sip of alcohol, and then his first glass, and then his second, until he was so drunk he couldn’t remember his name. He hadn’t known that alcohol would take time to set in, and so he’d had a lot to drink, thinking that maybe he just had a really good tolerance. And then it’d settled in, and it had just gone downhill from there.

After that, he’d avoided all parties, except for Harry’s seventeenth birthday party, and two others that Liam hadn‘t been able to make up an excuse to avoid. He didn’t drink that time, and had been the one to carry Harry into bed when he’d passed out in the backyard. That was his role-- Harry would party, Liam would pick him up and make sure he got home okay.

Liam sighed and stopped running long enough to turn the music up until it was almost painfully loud, and then he started really running, not just pacing himself. Sometimes, Liam liked to think while he was running. Others, he used running as an escape from thinking. Right now, he was hoping to drown out his thought.

By the time he got home his hair was matted to his forehead with sweat and his t-shirt clung to his body, drenched with sweat. His muscles ached, but in a good way. If he had went for any longer, that ache would get painful, but right now it was only verging on uncomfortable in a way that he’d learned meant he’d pushed himself just enough.

His mum’s car wasn’t in the driveway when he ran up the steps. That wasn’t surprising. She always worked on Saturdays, while his dad stayed home and then worked on Sundays.

He went into the kitchen, his breathing still heavy, and reached for the bottle of water he’d opened earlier. He gulped down the rest of it in one go, and then pulled open the fridge and leaned on the door while trying to find something to eat.

“You’re home early,” he heard from behind him, and he turned, closing the door. “It’s only seven thirty.”

Liam looked down at his watch. “Oh,” he said. He hadn’t realized.

His father sighed and headed towards the coffee maker, where his mother had already brewed a pot. “Liam, you can’t afford to shorten your workout.”

Liam frowned. “I didn’t mean to. Plus, I only cut out ten minutes.”

“I know you didn’t _mean_ to, and it’s only by ten minutes _today_ , but then what about next week, when it’s only shortened by half an hour? And then suddenly you’re cutting out the workout all together, and you’re not fit to play anymore?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Liam told him, an incredulous look on his face. “Dad--,”

“Don’t make excuses Liam, just do better next time.”

Liam pulled the fridge back open, grabbed a new bottle of water, and shouldered past his father towards the door. He didn’t slam it behind himself. That was a move for someone like Harry, someone bolder. Instead, he shut it like he normally would, and started running again, the words ‘do better’ echoing in his mind the whole time, pushing him to go further, to go faster, to be better.

He didn’t get home until 8:30, and by then he felt about ready to crawl into bed and pass out again. He couldn’t, though, so he made two pieces of whole grain toast for himself and ate them plain so that he could put an extra sugar in his coffee without screwing up his diet.

He could hear the TV playing in the living room and carried his plate and cup of coffee to the living room. His dad was sitting on the couch, his own coffee balanced on the arm rest. Liam sat on the other side of the couch and ate quietly while listening faintly to the news. When he was done he took a sip of his drink and cleared his throat.

“So, dad,” he started, and his father grunted at him. “Remember how I told you Harry was staying at his dad’s for a bit?” Another grunt. “I was wondering if I could stay the night there tonight.”

His father turned to him then. “At Harry’s?” he asked, clarifying.

Liam nodded. “Just for tonight. I’ll bring my work over, and Harry said he’d help me on my History, anyways, and--,”

His father sighed. “I don’t know why we let you hang out with that boy,” he said, not for the first time. “I wish you’d get more driven friends, Liam. But fine, I can’t see any reason why you can’t.”

“Thanks,” Liam said, getting up. He didn’t bother defending Harry, because he’d learned that it was a lost cause, in his father’s eyes. His mum, on the other hand, loved Harry. His father thought he was a bad influence.

He spent the rest of the morning, and part of the afternoon, working on English and History work. He was lagging behind in English, and he was getting a head start on the History so that he wouldn’t have to worry about it later on.

He struggled in English. The literature just didn’t make sense in his mind, and Liam had trouble expressing himself in words. He knew that he was just scraping by. For one, he shouldn’t even be taking such a high level of English. Secondly, he needed to admit that he needed help, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t ask for help, because that would be like admitting failure, and his father couldn’t find out that he wasn’t doing well. No, he’d just have to work extra hard and hope for the best.

An hour or so before dinner, Harry burst into his room, a grin on his face. “Guess who got the keys to their car back for sitting through an entire dinner with _Yvette_?” He said Yvette the way some people would say Satan.

From what he’d been told, Harry hated Yvette only slightly less than he hated his father. “She’s so fake,” he’d groaned. “And she tries to act like my mum but, hello, I already have one of those, thanks, I don’t need another.”

He knew that Harry was struggling being at his dad’s, and he tried his best to be supportive and listen to Harry’s complaints. He remembered back when Harry had been on good terms with his dad, and then how crushed he’d been when John had backed out of his life again. He kind of hated Harry’s dad, too, for making him go through that.

“That’s great,” Liam told him. “Wasn’t looking forward to taking the bus up there.”

Harry grinned. “I think another two weeks, maybe, and I’ll have my phone back, too.”

“You talked to your mum?” Liam asked, closing his English book.

Harry’s expression visibly fell. “Once,” Harry murmured, shrugging.

Liam sighed. “You have to forgive her, Harry. Being mad at her is making you miserable.”

“I know,” Harry admitted, sinking down onto Liam’s bed. “I just can’t yet.”

Liam nodded. In his own time, Harry would deal with it. He felt betrayed by her, Liam knew, and he wasn’t going to get over that right away.

“I’ve still got to pack my clothes and toothbrush,” Liam said suddenly, standing up. “And I’ve got to bring my homework with me.”

Harry flopped back onto the bed and made an annoyed sound. “No homework this weekend. Come on, Liam, can’t we just have fun?”

“No, we can’t,” Liam told him, grabbing his overnight bag. “I can’t afford to get behind.”

Harry snorted. “Like you’d ever get behind, Mr. Perfect.”

Liam ignored that and headed into the bathroom to grab his toothbrush and deodorant. “We picking up Niall, too?” he asked as he carefully put his things in his bag. He headed to his dresser and grabbed pyjama pants, another pair of jeans, and two t-shirts.

“Right, you should text him and ask him for his address.”

Liam pulled his cellphone from his pocket and tossed it. It Harry’s chest and bounced onto the bed. Harry grunted when it hit him and then grabbed it, quickly bringing up Niall’s number, which they’d both gotten that day at the park.

He shouldered his bag as Harry texted. When he was done, he handed Liam back his phone and they headed out the door, Liam calling a quick, “See you tomorrow!” over his shoulder so that his dad couldn’t change his mind at the last minute.

Niall didn’t live too far from Liam’s house, and it was on the way to Harry’s dad’s place. He climbed into the backseat with a grin on his face and then shoved his head into the space between Liam and Harry’s seats.

“Excited?” he asked them.

Liam looked at him and then frowned. Without thinking, he reached out and gently touched the side of Niall’s neck. Niall flinched back and covered the spot with his hand.

“It’s nothing,” Niall said quickly. “Got into a fight at the club last night.”

Harry frowned and looked at Niall in the rear view mirror. “Got what?”

“Bruise,” Liam said quietly. Niall had a look on his face, though, one that had Liam turning to look back out the windshield. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it, and Liam respected that. It looked painful, though, and the bruise on his face from yesterday was still there, just a little bit more faded. He wondered if Niall got into fights often, and realized that maybe he really did need friends to call at two in the morning when things got out of hand. “If you ever need help--,”

“I’ll be sure to call one of you,” Niall said quickly, his grin back in place. “Might need it tonight. Tommo throws the craziest parties. Those rich kids really know how to fuck shit up.”

Liam felt something hard settle in his stomach. “Lovely.”

Harry turned to him, taking his eyes off the road for just a moment, and he had the same excited and relax grin on his face as Niall.

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

  
He was curled up on his couch, a plate of Chinese food balanced in his lap, watching some shitty show on the telly when his phone rang.

He’d splurged on the Chinese food. Sure, he could have taken the twenty quid he’d spent on it and put it towards getting actual groceries, but he’d gotten all of the necessities the other day, and he figured he deserved it. He’d been making good money all week, had paid off his rent and the cable. Everything else he made was just spending money. Eventually, he’d like so save up and get a car, but for now he just wanted to be able to relax and not have to worry about bills or having food in the fridge.

He put his plate beside him on the couch and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Louis’ name flashed across the screen and he pressed ‘talk’ instantly.

“Do you know why I’m your best friend?” Louis asked as a way of greeting.

“Because I only hate you half as much as I hate everyone else?” Zayn guessed, hitting the mute button on the remote.

“That too,” Louis agreed. “But no, even better than that. Guess who’s at my party right now?”

Zayn frowned and then said, “Tell me.” He hated guessing.

“Remember that guy who I thought was average but you got all hot and bothered over at the police station?”

It took him a minute to remember what Louis was talking about, but when he did he sat up straighter. “He’s at your party?”

“Yes, he just walked in, like, ten minutes ago. You’re so lucky you know me,” Louis told him. “Also, Jeff needs a few grams, so you better get your arse over here.”

Zayn got off the couch and headed to his room, hunched in that weird way that kept the phone pressed between his shoulder and ear so his hands were free. “Don’t let him leave,” Zayn instructed, pulling open the door to his closet.

“I can’t stop him from going anywhere,” Louis told him, and Zayn figured he must have locked himself in the bathroom to call Zayn because his voice echoed weirdly, and the music in the background was faint. “Are you staying the night, then?”

“Yeah,” Zayn said, pulling the phone away from his ear long enough to tug off his shirt. When he put the phone back to his ear he heard the end of Louis question.

“-- to fuck him on my couch, then, or what?” Louis asked, and he sounded annoyed but also amused.

“Think he’d be down for that?” Zayn questioned, pulling a shirt off the hanger. It was just a simple white one, but he didn’t bother attempting to dress up. The guy might have been hot, and Zayn definitely wanted to hook up with him, but Zayn didn’t put in effort for anyone.

Louis snorted. “We both know that if there’s even a slight chance of him being into men, he’d be down for that.”

Zayn grinned. “I’ll see you in about half an hour. I’ve got to bus up there.”

He grabbed his wallet from where it lay on the floor of his bedroom amongst clothes and food wrappers. He needed to clean, but it wasn’t completely trashed. He could live in it for a few more days the way it was.

He opened the wallet, making sure it had everything inside of it: ID, two condoms, and the little convenient packet of lube he kept in there, just in case.

He grabbed his rucksack and went through the usual motions, putting the pot in the pencil case. Louis’ friends always bought a lot when he went to their parties. Tonight would be a mixture of business and pleasure, if it went the right way.

He got downstairs just in time for the bus. He was lucky enough to have a stop only a few feet from his building. Sadly, the route would take him downtown first, and then backtrack up to the other side of town. He went to the back and sat in his usual seat, noticing for the first time that someone had scratched out the ‘FUCK YOU’ he’d written the other day and had scrawled the words ‘That’s not very nice’ just beneath it.

Zayn shook his head and dug into his bag for his marker and then wrote underneath the words, ‘No one is nice.’

He hated long bus rides, and the ride to Lou’s was always long. He tapped his fingers restlessly on his legs, giving anyone who looked like they were contemplating sitting beside him a glare. Finally it stopped a few minutes from Louis’ neighbourhood and he got off, walking the rest of the way.

The closer he got to Louis’ house, he started hearing music. On Louis’ street, he could almost make out the words to the loudly thumping bass. He rolled his eyes. Louis got away with everything, including throwing outrageous parties that he somehow never had the police break up.

A few girls who were standing out front, drinks and cigarettes in hand, eyed him appreciatively as he headed up the walk. He took in one of them, a petite brunette with wide blue eyes, and decided that if things with the brown eyed boy didn’t work out, he’d head back out and chat her up.

He pulled his phone out as he walked into the house and sent Louis a text telling him that he’d arrived, just in case he couldn’t find him in the crowd of people. Louis’ house was huge, and Zayn had no idea how he knew enough people to have it that full.

He walked through the crowd for a bit, trying to find Louis. When arms circled him from behind, he pulled forward and turned, ready to punch whoever grabbed him or grin at what could have been a girl being extremely bold. Instead, he let his hand drop and rolled his eyes at Louis.

“Calm down, Bruce Lee,” Louis told him, mimicking Zayn’s eye roll. “Come,” he ordered, grabbing Zayn’s arm. He dragged him through the people, pausing only once to grab another guy by the arm and then continued to drag the two of them until they got into the downstairs bathroom.

“Who’s this?” the other guy demanded. He looked like any of Louis’ friends did, like Zayn’s old friends used to look, before they’d dropped him years ago: perfectly ironed polo shirt, jeans that were designed to look dirty, and hair that looked like a failed attempt at Louis’ carefully styled flyaway hair.

“Jeff, Zayn. Zayn, Jeff,” Louis said quickly. “You still want the weed, correct?”

Jeff nodded. “How much do you have?”

Zayn raised his eyebrows. “How much do you want?”

Louis rolled his eyes once more. “He’s got sixty quid. Just give him however much that’s worth,” he instructed, but he winked at Zayn, something he did to indicate that Jeff wasn’t an avid user, therefore he would have no idea if Zayn overcharged him. Zayn did exactly that, taking the sixty and pocketing it before handing the guy only thirty pounds worth of weed.

“Thanks,” Jeff said, nodding to both of them before ducking back out of the bathroom.

“I surround myself with idiots,” Louis told Zayn with a longsuffering sigh. “Right, let’s get you your man. I need another drink.”

Zayn frowned at his best friend and took a minute to give him a once over. Louis’ suspenders were no longer over his shoulders but instead hung loosely around his waist. His face was a bit red, and his normally perfectly styled hair looked a bit mused.

“You sure you need another?” Zayn asked cautiously.

“Yes, father, I’m sure,” Louis said, grabbing his arm once again. “And I’m getting you one, too, because I’m not going to have you being a parental figure tonight.”

He and Louis had a give and take relationship. Some nights, Zayn would get so fucked out of his mind and he’d call Louis to pick him up. Others, Louis would give in and take a bit of whatever was floating around the party that night, and Zayn would be the one picking up the pieces. Neither of them complained and neither of them tried to tell the other what to do. It’s why they got along so well. They knew each other’s boundaries, knew when a stern talking to would only do more to damage instead of help the situation.

Zayn let Louis drag him through the party once more until they reached the kitchen. He released Zayn’s arm and leaned over to press a kiss to Eleanor’s cheek. She was leaning against the counter, talking to a few other girls, and she grinned when Louis kissed her. The grin slid off her face when she turned to see Zayn, but she tried to hide it so Louis wouldn’t notice.

Zayn knew Eleanor didn’t like him, and that was fine because he didn’t like her, either.

“Zayn,” she said pleasantly anyways, raising her voice to be heard over the music.

“El,” Zayn said, reaching around one of her friends to grab the bottle of vodka on the counter. Louis handed him a red cup and a bottle of Coke. He poured a good amount of the alcohol in his cup and filled it the rest of the way with the Coke. When he took a sip and it was a bit strong, just the way he liked it, burning down his throat.

“Zayn’s on a quest to get laid,” Louis told her, getting a drink for himself, too.

“Isn’t he always?” Eleanor said.

Zayn ignored her and took another, larger, sip of his drink. “I’m going out to have a smoke,“ he told Louis.

“Right, and I’ll track down your mystery man,” Louis told him.

Zayn grinned and pulled the lighter and pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He stood in Louis’ back yard, watching as a few people drank and others chatted loudly. He heard one person dare their friend to jump in the pool, and he watched them for a moment, wondering if they actually would. He took a long hall on the cigarette and held the smoke in for a moment before releasing it.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he grabbed it out with his free hand.

_By couch com b4 he wlks way-- Louis_

Zayn chuckled at Louis’ drunken attempts at texting and pocketed his phone before dropping his cigarette to the ground. He stomped on it to make sure it was out and then went back into the house.

When he got into the living room he found Louis with his arm around a blonde guy who he faintly recognized but couldn’t put a name to. Beside the blonde was the guy he’d sold the weed to, Harry -- or that was probably his name, Zayn was bad with names-- and on _his_ left was the guy with the brown eyes and deliciously wide shoulders.

Zayn couldn’t remember the last time he’d hooked up with a jock type, but this guy had to be one with that build.

“Hey,” Zayn said, sliding up beside Louis. “Who’re your friends?”

“Zayn, right?” Harry said. He was smiling easily, so he apparently didn’t have any hard feelings towards Zayn for getting busted the other day with the weed Zayn had sold him.

“Yeah, Harry, right?” Zayn said, nodding at him. “And what’s your name, babe?” Zayn asked, skipping the blonde guy altogether.

The brown eyed boy frowned, and he must have realized where he recognized Zayn from, because those brown eyes narrowed slightly.

“Sorry, lad, he’s taken,” the blonde said, pulling away from Louis. He grabbed the brown eyed boy by the arm and started pulling him away. The boy let him, and then the two of them were heading through the crowd. Before they disappeared, Zayn caught the blonde guy glaring at him over his shoulder.

“He not,” Harry said, frowning between Louis and Zayn. “Taken, that is.”

Louis laughed good-naturedly. “It seems our friend Niall’s heard of your exploitations, Zayn, and is protecting his friend’s honour.”

Harry’s frown deepened and Zayn glared at the last spot he’d seen Niall and the brown eyed boy. “I’m going to get another drink,” Zayn told Louis, annoyance seeping into his tone.

He didn’t wait for Louis’ response and walked away. Halfway to the kitchen he stopped to dance with the brunette he’d seen out front, and before he knew it he’d gotten her another drink, too, and they were up against one of the walls, his tongue in her mouth, any thoughts of boys with brown eyes disappearing. Zayn didn’t pine over anyone.

 

* * *

 

**Louis**

There was a time when he’d be upset with his parents for leaving him behind while they went on a business trip or vacation during the weekend. There was a time he’d questioned whether they really loved him, if they just left him with a babysitter for days. Now that he was older, though, and the babysitters were long forgotten, he learned to truly appreciate the freedom he had, and he learned not to give a single fuck about whether or not his parents cared enough to bring him with them.

His sisters all attended an all girls boarding school, one that their parents paid an arm and a leg to send them to. That meant that they were only home on the holidays. It also meant that, when his parents left for the weekend, Louis had the entire house to himself.

He was also grateful that his neighbours were all just like his parents, and they usually left for the weekend. The ones who didn’t were the type who didn’t care about anyone else, too, so he could throw all the parties he wanted, and nine times out of ten, his parents were none the wiser. And when they _did_ find out, they didn’t care. As long as the house looked the way it had when they’d left, they could happy.

Over the years, Louis had become known for his outrageously wild parties. He wasn’t stupid, he knew it was one of the main factors of his rank in the social scale. He was fine with that.

He couldn’t find Zayn at the moment. Last he’d seen his best friend, he’d had some girl pinned to the wall, giving her the time of her life, all thoughts of that other boy, Niall’s friend, long gone. Louis wasn’t sure if he was happy for his friend, or sad. He knew that Zayn was happy with the way he lived his life, but he also had a small feeling that Zayn would benefit from actually _being_ with someone that he _wanted_ to be with.

When he stumbled into the kitchen again, thinking that maybe Zayn had went to get another drink, he couldn’t remember how much he’d had himself. The room was out of focus, mostly, and it was a bit difficult to stay upright.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t having fun. It was a party, of course he was having fun. He just felt tired and bored of the whole thing, if he was honest with himself.

“What’s wrong?” Eleanor asked, walking over to him. He forgot that she’d been in the kitchen.

“Just a little over it all at this point,” Louis admitted, wrapping his arms around her neck.

El smiled and reached into her pocket. She produced a tiny dime baggie and waggled it in front of his face. It took his eyes a second to focus on the tiny pill inside, and by the time that he had, she was already pulling it out. She didn’t give him a chance to ask what it was before she carefully placed it on her tongue and then pulled him in for a kiss.  
He could feel the pill on his tongue then, and Eleanor pulled back and waited for him to swallow it dry. When he did, she pulled him in for another kiss, this one slower. Her hands slid up his back and he resisted the urge to sigh. He didn’t do drugs often, and he wasn’t sure if he was really in the mood to get high that night. He would have looked stupid, saying no, though, so he’d swallowed it.

He let her kiss him for a while and attempted to seem into it. El made a content noise and pressed herself closer to him, so he figured it must have been working.

“Come dance!” one of Eleanor’s friends shouted.

She pulled back and grinned at Louis before pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. She reached behind herself and pressed a glass into his hand. “Have fun, Louis,” she told him.  
He nodded and took the drink, taking a large gulp of it to try and get the lump out of his throat from swallowing the pill dry.

Louis carefully -- or he thought it was carefully, until it tipped over and the liquid spread across the counter-- put the cup down, and stumbled away from the kitchen. Someone had turned the lights down in the living room, and the only source of light was now the laser set he’d gotten a year ago. The lights moved and flickered, sometimes stopping altogether to plunge the room into darkness. He couldn’t tell if everything was spinning because of whatever El had given him, or if the room was actually doing that. Either seemed possible.

Later, if you asked him, he couldn’t have told you who he danced with. Bodies pressed against his on all sides, some female, some male. Louis moved against everyone. He was like water, or air, everywhere at all times, constantly in motion.

Eventually that motion made him feel sick, though, an he pushed away from whoever he was dancing with and tried to get to the bathroom before he inevitably threw up.  
Somehow he made it, too, but the second he shut the bathroom door behind himself, the nausea subsided. He put his hands flat on the cool counter top and looked at himself in the mirror.

He was sweating heavily, hair clinging to his forehead. The rest of it was a mess from people dragging their hands through it, and he reached up to fix it, but his fingers felt too big to do anything. His palm fell flat against the crown of his head, and he let it fall. It slid softly against his face and then fell to rest on top of the counter, this time palm side up.

He stared at his hand for a bit, marvelling in the lines in the skin, but his body felt so heavy, _so_ heavy, and his eyes wanted to close. He let himself sink to the ground and placed his cheek against the thankfully cold tiles on the floor. The sound of music echoed all around him and he closed his eyes, seeing lights dance against his eyelids.

Someone shook him, hard, and Louis’ eyes flew open. Or they tried to, but they seemed to stick a bit, and instead he ended up only opening them halfway before blinking them closed again, trying to get rid of the blurriness.

A pair of green eyes looked down at him, and he tried to put a face to those eyes, because he recognized them, faintly. When he couldn’t name them, he blinked again and attempted to sit up.

“I wouldn’t try,” the mouth belonging to the eyes told him. “You did that five minutes ago and nearly cracked your head open before I grabbed you.”

Louis opened his mouth to protest, but his throat felt dry. “Eleanor?”

“Left half an hour ago,” the guy said. He had a pleasantly slow and low voice. It reminded Louis of sitting in the sun on a hot summer day while Zayn played some obscure band softly in the background.

Louis frowned at his words, though. Eleanor wouldn’t leave without making sure he was okay, right? Of course she would. She never stayed long enough to see if he needed help cleaning up. Or to see if he’d passed out in the bathroom because of whatever she’d given him.

“Zayn,” he croaked next, because he didn’t want this unfamiliar person helping him. He was Louis freaking Tomlinson, he could help himself. And if he couldn’t, he would prefer the help of someone who he felt close to, because he didn’t like being vulnerable around people who could judge him. Who could tuck that vulnerability away to use against him later on.

“He’s almost as bad as you are,” the guy answered. “Last I seen him he was sitting on the ground with an arm around a plant, telling it how pretty it’s brown eyes were.”

Louis groaned. That sounded like Zayn. Sometimes, he was a happy drunk, the life of the party. Other’s, he was an angry drunk, picking fights with whoever met his eyes. And sometimes, rarely, but it happened, he’d get what Louis referred to as ‘Taylor Swift drunk’, where he’d moon over whoever he wanted at the time, and whine about all the past ‘relationships’ he’d had that had went wrong. Not that they could really be called relationships, but Zayn considered sleeping with the same person twice in a row commitment, so.

Louis rubbed a hand over his face and attempted to sit up again. His helper allowed it this time, but he felt a steadying hand on his back. He looked up into the guy’s face again, and this time he put a name to it.

“Harry,” he said quietly. “Right?”

“Right,” Harry agreed, a half-smile on his face.

“Niall’s friend,” Louis continued. “The guy who got arrested for buying weed off Zayn. He’s sorry about that, by the way. And he really wants to shag your friend with the puppy-dog eyes.”

Harry snorted at that. “You can tell him I said not to worry about it, wasn’t his fault. And that he’s wasting his time with my friend. Liam doesn’t date. Or do random hook-ups.”  
Louis sighed and leaned into Harry’s touch. “That’s unfortunate. Zayn’s a very nice person. Sad, but nice.”

Harry didn’t answer, but he pressed a cup into Louis’ hand. He took it and gulped down the water quickly. His throat felt less thick afterwards, and his body didn’t ache as much as it had, not that he’d noticed the aching until it had started to subside a bit.

“Feel like shit,” Louis admitted.

“Yeah, well,” he could hear the annoyance in Harry’s voice. “That tends to happen when you do-- whatever it is you took.”

“I don’t know what it was,” Louis admitted, blinking up at Harry’s green eyes. From his spot on the floor, the other boy seemed impossibly tall.

“That was stupid,” Harry told him frowning. “And none of your friends stopped to check on you, you know. Not one of them. Except Zayn, that is, but like I said, he’s not really in any position to help. You’re lucky.”

Louis felt his own anger and annoyance surge up at that. Who the hell was this boy to judge him or his friends? He didn’t know a thing about them.

“Lucky that you were here to save me?” Louis snapped, sarcasm etched in every word. “If you’re waiting for the thank you, I’d advise you not to hold your breath.”

Harry sighed and held out his hand. “Come on,” he said.

Louis stared at his hand. “And I’m supposed to do what with that, exactly?”

Harry gave him a suffering look and then reached down and, with a strength his skinny frame didn’t show that he had, he lifted Louis off the ground. His arms stayed around Louis’ waist, and Louis resisted the urge to push them away, only because he knew he’d fall if he did.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Harry asked.

“Just leave me on the couch,” Louis told him. He didn’t want this boy, with his judgemental green eyes and relaxing voice, in his room.

“Where’s your room?” Harry repeated, ignoring him.

“Second floor, the one at the far end,” Louis admitted begrudgingly.

Louis tried not to look too closely at the living room. He’d have a hell of a mess to clean up the next day, he knew. There wasn’t anyone in it anymore, though, except Zayn, who’d passed out beside one of his mother’s prized plants, the leaves now bent and out of shape. Louis gave him a concerned look but Harry swiftly moved them past his slumped form.

“He can’t sleep like that,” Louis said softly, trying to look over his shoulder as Harry got them to the stairs.

“I’ll get him on the couch once you’re in bed,” Harry promised.

Louis swallowed as Harry’s grip on him tightened so he could get them up the stairs. It was a bit of a struggle, and Louis must have pushed up his shirt a bit, because his fingers found skin when he tried to hold onto Harry’s side.

“Where’d your friend go?” he asked when they got on the second floor.

“Had Niall bring him home,” Harry answered, releasing him a bit. “He would have made us stay until this whole place was clean. He’s like that. Puts too much on his plate all the time.”

Louis made a noncommittal sound, and Harry pushed open the door to his bedroom. There were a few cups littering his floor, and his comforter was moved a bit. Someone must have broken into it to makeout on his bed. He made a face at that, but he didn’t think Harry would allow him to burn the sheets, so he would have to remind himself to have them cleaned tomorrow, and to take an extra long shower, too.

Harry let go of him with one arm and pulled back the bedspread. He let Louis flop onto the bed, and he did so with a relieved sigh. He was so tired. It felt like he’d been running all night, non stop, his legs burning as if they’d been worked too hard

“Goodbye, Louis,” Harry said after pulling the blankets up over Louis’ form. Louis watched him walk away, pausing to turn off the light, and the door closing behind him.  
He fell back asleep staring at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in case anyone is wondering, this IS a very slow burn fic, because the length of the fic is VERY long (longest thing I've ever consecutively written) and I also enjoy angst. Anyways, thank you for reading, hopefully you stick with the rest of this fic! You're lovely. Also, thank you guys for the reviews! Reading them makes me so happy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Liam**

After the party, Harry ordered Niall to take Liam back to his dad’s. Liam was still a little peeved about that, and in the end he’d ended up taking _Niall_ back to Harry’s dad’s, because Niall had a lot to drink, and the other boy had to lean on Liam the whole way.

Thankfully for them, Harry’s dad had been out on a date with Yvette. It must have been a long date, too, because he and Niall didn’t stumble into the house until way after midnight, and they still weren’t back.

Harry still wasn’t back by the time Liam put Niall in the guest bedroom, either. That was where Liam had planned to sleep, but on his way out of the room he grabbed his bag and brought it to Harry’s room. He’d sleep in there instead. It wouldn’t be the first time the two of them had slept in the same bed and, most likely, it wouldn’t be the last.

Harry’s room had a window that faced the left, and he looked out it, trying to see down to Louis’ house. There were a few lights still on, and what parts of the lawn that were illuminated were covered in trash. Liam had wanted to stay and help. It wasn’t fair that Louis was stuck cleaning up the place himself, not when there had been so many people there.

Harry had forced him to leave, though, and then he’d ducked into the bathroom. Liam had no idea what he was doing, but he was worried. Anxious. He almost got up and went back over there, just to make sure things were okay.

On their way out the door -- he and Niall were two of the last to leave-- they’d past by that boy with the dark hair and eyes. Zayn, his name was. He was the one who’d sold Harry the weed. And it wasn’t that Liam blamed him for Harry getting in trouble, because Liam was well aware that that was Harry’s own bad decision making, but he couldn’t help having a bit of resentment towards the boy anyways.

Liam had seen him more than once that night, making out with random girls, tossing back drinks, smoking -- both cigarettes and weed-- and just doing whatever he wanted. It was like he didn’t have a care in the world, and Liam resented that, because it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair that one person got to do everything, got to have fun and live, without any consequences.

Twice, he’d looked back at Liam, but both times Niall had been right there, and he’d just grabbed Liam’s arm and carted him off before Zayn could approach them.

“Trust me,” Niall had told him after he first pulled Liam away from the group that had consisted of Harry, Louis and Zayn. “That’s one person you don’t want to be messing with. Some people don’t deserve their bad reputations, but Zayn Malik’s is all deserved.”

Liam had just blinked at him in confusion. “Okay, but I don’t get what that has to do with me.”

Niall had given him a look then, one that was filled with fondness that Liam didn’t think he’d earned yet from the other boy. “You’re kind of oblivious to things like this, aren’t you?”

Liam had frowned at him, at the time, and even now, he didn’t fully understand what Niall meant.

“Look,” Niall pulled him into the kitchen and poured himself a drink while he spoke. “Last year, right, I went to a party like this with my old friends,” Niall started, and Liam had wondered when the other boy started referring to his group ‘old friends’ as apposed to just ‘friends’. “And my friend Cally, you know her? Pretty girl, red hair? Anyways, that one, Zayn, hit on her all night. And Cally’s not exactly a saint, I won’t lie, but he did a number on her. Spent the night with her, and then the next day called her Carrie and didn’t call her back. Then, a few months later, they met at another party, and at this point Cally had convinced herself that it was all an accident, so she hooked up with him again. And then, when she mentioned their past, he apparently told her that he’d never met her before in his life, and that if he had, she must not of been memorable.”

“Poor girl,” Liam had said, sympathy in his words.

“Yeah, he’s a right prick, so like I said, just don’t get involved with him. Okay? It’s not worth it,” Niall had finished, tossing back a long sip of whatever he’d made himself. “Not worth it.”

Liam didn’t bother pointing out that he didn’t have any plans to befriend the other boy any time soon, so Niall didn’t _need_ to worry. He’d been too busy being grateful that Niall _had_ worried, had tried to protect him, even though Liam didn’t fully understand why he needed to be taken care of.

He was just replying this all in his mind when a car pulled up in front of the house. He couldn’t see the driveway from the window, but if he had to guess, he’d say it was Harry’s father and Yvette.

A few moments later, this was proven when two loud, obviously intoxicated, voices reached his ears. Liam swallowed thickly. Harry was already walking on such a thin line, if he got caught sneaking in at-- Liam checked his watch-- two in the morning, he was going to be in so much trouble.

Not long after thinking that, there was a knock at the door and then, seconds later, it opened. John stood there, face a bit red, hair more dishevelled than Liam was used to seeing it, and a questioning look on his face. “Liam,” he said, frowning. “Where’s Harry?”

“Uh, bathroom?” Liam answered, wishing he sounded more sure of that. Thankfully, John was too drunk to notice the lie, and he nodded and then shut the door behind himself.

Liam looked back out the window and noticed the door to Louis’ house opening. He could see the shape of Harry’s body as he crossed over the darkened lawns of his neighbours. He paused beside his house, though, and Liam could see him run a hand through his hair.

“He thinks you’re in the bathroom,” Liam shouted as quietly as he could.

Harry looked up at him and Liam just caught the nod he gave. Liam sat back down on Harry’s bed and waited, either for him to get in without getting caught, or for the inevitable yelling his dad would be doing if he were.

Thankfully, Harry managed to slip into his room without anyone seeing him. “Thanks,” he said, pulling his shirt up over his head. “Fucking exhausted.”

Liam nodded and Harry turned off the light. Liam grabbed his bag and Harry averted his eyes, even in the darkness, while Liam changed in his pyjamas quickly and then they both climbed into bed.

“So what happened?” Liam couldn’t help but ask.

They were both laying on their backs, facing the ceiling. “One of Louis’ friends gave him something,” Harry said quietly, his voice sounding rougher than Liam’s had in the darkness and silence. “I found him passed out in the bathroom.”

Liam nodded. He wished he could say he was surprised, but he really wasn’t all that much. Louis had seemed nice, if not a little bit too outgoing for his taste. Harry flocked to people like that, people who rivalled him for the spotlight, but Liam ducked away from them, lest he get caught up in their brightness too.

“He okay?”

Harry turned his head a bit and met Liam’s eyes. He nodded. “Yeah, he’s fine. It’s just-- it’s just such bullshit, you know? I mean, you seen all the people in that house. Not one of them stayed to help him. Not _one_.”

“You did,” Liam pointed out.

“Yeah, I did.”

They were quiet for a few moments, and it was only because of Niall talking about him all night that made Liam curious. “What about-- what’s his name, Zayn? He didn’t stay to help?”

Harry snorted. “I think he was the only one who wanted to, actually, but I found him passed out and hugging a plant, so, no, he didn’t really help, but I don’t think that’s completely his fault.”

“Hugging a plant,” Liam repeated.

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled, whatever bad mood had settled over him already slipping away. “Promise me that if I ever get that far gone, you’ll at least throw something at me.”

“Promise,” Liam told him.

“Good, and I promise not to ever leave you passed out in a bathroom,” Harry added. “Or Niall. We’ll help him, too.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They fell asleep after that, both of them dozing off around the same time. The next day, Niall was hungover, Harry was still tired, and Liam was the only one in the entire house up before nine. He stayed at Harry’s for a bit, but his father made him promise he’d be home early. He had their first game of the season on Tuesday, and he needed to be ready.

On Tuesday at lunch, he sat with the team, because they always sat together during game days. Normally, Liam would sit at one of the smaller tables near the walls, by himself, books spread out around him so it looked like he _chose_ to sit alone, as apposed to having been forced to. Without Harry there, he didn’t really want to sit with anyone else.

Thankfully, Harry and Niall would both be back tomorrow, though he wasn’t sure if Niall would sit with them. Sure, it was fine for him to hang out with them outside of school, but Liam knew there was a big chance that he would go back to his normal table, maybe even apologize, and sit with them. The thought made him kind of sad, but he’d deal with it. He was used to it being just Harry and him.

He got out of class early that day, because their first game was an away one. They were playing at Winston. Liam was too out of it and anxious for the game to remember that that was where Louis and his friends went. Not that it really mattered.

“Pumped for the first game, Payne?” Roman asked him, sliding into the seat next to his on the bus to Winston. He wouldn’t stay there for long. Roman had a bad habit of constantly getting up on the bus, something that their couch yelled at him for often.

Liam shrugged. “Of course.”

Roman slapped him on the back. “You always are, Payne,” he said. “Right guys?” The other guys on the team looked up at Roman’s voice. “Reliable Liam, eh?”

“Reliable Liam!” they all shouted.

“Reliable Liam,” Liam repeated.

The bus stopped near closer to Winston’s field than the building. The school was nice, but that wasn’t really surprising, considering the amount of money it cost to attend.

There were already people on the pitch, some players, some supporters. A few people from their school would arrive in a bit. Winston was one of the classier schools, though, so it wasn’t like they got booed when the bus unloaded; that had only happened a handful of times, and their school always showed up to cheer them on much louder than the opposing team, anyways.

Their team already had their uniforms on, and each boy had a bag of their things slung over their shoulders. They filed onto the pitch together, some in groups of twos and threes, chatting amongst themselves. Liam lingered behind them a bit.

“Liam,” coach called, and Liam slowed down even more to walk with him. “How’re you doing, son?”

Liam shrugged. “I’m good,” he said, because he was. Liam loved playing games. It was different than practise, different than training or working out. Games had a purpose, a strict beginning and end. Either you won or you lost and, with Liam’s help, his team mostly won.

“Good,” coach said, putting a hand on his shoulder as they walked. “Now, just ignore Menton, he’s an idiot. Don’t pass to him. Carlos, too, actually. In fact, just play like your team sucks, because it does, and you’re the only thing that’s going to win us this game. Because you are.”

Liam swallowed. “No pressure,” Liam tried to joke, but he felt his breath coming shorter.

“Exactly,” coach told him. “Roman, what the hell are you doing?” he shouted, and he left Liam behind to chase after Roman, who was hitting Alex with his shoes.

Pregame anxieties were always bad for Liam, mostly because he knew, and everyone always pointed it out, that they were all riding on him. Coach made it sound worse than it was, his team wasn’t that incompetent, but he was far better than any of them.

On the pitch, Liam didn’t join in on the other guys, who were fooling around and pushing each other. He put his bag under his spot on the bench and pulled his laces tight before standing up and taking a short jog around the field, ignoring the bystanders and the other team.

When he’d looped around once, coach was gathering them all together. They had about twenty minutes until the game started, and he went over his game plan, as per usual, while Liam only half listened and half worried.

He’d do fine, once he was playing. For some reason, the anxieties never followed him into the game. Rugby Liam was not the same person as normal Liam. He didn’t over think, he didn’t worry. He didn’t feel like he was going to embarrass himself by doing something stupid. He just played, and played well. Like he was on autopilot, or like there was nothing else in the world but the game. That was his favourite part of playing.

While coach gave his speech, Liam noticed other people filing into the stands surrounding the field. Harry went to his games sometimes, and sometimes he didn’t, so when he looked up to see both Niall and Harry waving at him -- or, Niall waving at him, and Harry giving him the finger-- he grinned.

“I’ll be back,” Liam said to his coach, who just waved him off while he continued to lecture Roman.

“Hey,” Harry said when he got over to them. They were sitting on the benches for their team, while the Winston supporters sat on the other side of the pitch, just in case anyone got a little heated over which team won or lost.

“You know, I’ve never actually seen our team play,” Niall mused. “You good?”

“He’s the best,” Harry said, not in a bragging tone. He said it like he was stating a fact. Liam blushed.

“Good luck,” Niall said, ripping open a bag of crisps. He shoved a handful in his mouth and held the bag out to Liam, who shook his head, and then to Harry, who grabbed a few.

“You want to come over after the game?” Harry asked.

Liam looked over his shoulder to make sure his coach was still chatting away, and then down at his watch. “Can’t, my dad’s going to be here in a few minutes, and you know how he is after a game.”

Harry nodded. “I think you have to go,” he said, pointing over Liam’s shoulder.

Liam turned to see his coach beckoning him, and he shrugged. “I’ll see you after the game.”

The team huddled together, and coach gave them his finale pregame speech. Everyone was hyped up and ready, while Liam stood there calmly, waiting for it to just start. Eventually, both teams filed onto the field. Liam didn’t look up at the bleachers again, because he knew his father would be there, watching, and he didn’t want any more nerves to set in.

By the time the first half of the game was done, and the teams took a quick ten minute break, Liam had already made three tries, while Roman and another one of his team mates, Jason, made one each. They were winning by sixteen points, and Liam knew he was already at the top of his game. If this game was anything to go by, his final season would be a great one.

Liam sat on the bench, not bothering to chat to his dad or Harry and Niall during the break. He needed a drink, and he needed to sit for a moment. He ignored his team and took a long sip of water while facing the other team.

He recognized Louis instantly. The styled, sideways facing hair jogging his memory. He wasn’t a player, since he was in a Winston school sweater, as apposed to the team’s uniform. He was chatting animatedly to one of their players, though, and then both he and his companion turned to Liam, and Louis pointed at him. The other boy said something to Louis, and then he watched as Louis mouthed Liam’s name before walking off.

He could still see Louis as he climbed back onto the bleachers and pulled his phone out of his pocket, a grin on his face as he quickly spoke into the phone. Eventually that grin slid away, though, and then he just shrugged. Liam wished he could tell what the other boy was saying, because he could see Louis repeating his name to whoever he was chatting with on the phone.

Eventually coach called them back and they played the rest of the game. Unsurprisingly, they won. Liam got the most points out of either teams, racking in a total of twenty on his own, with their team winning with thirty-two, the other team ending with twenty. Even by his standards, that was high, and Liam knew that he’d done exceptionally.

“Not bad,” his father said, coming up behind him after everyone else had clapped him on the back. He could see Niall and Harry, chatting with a few girls from their school, hovering around the edges, waiting to talk to him. “You’ll have to do a bit better if you really want to impress the scouts though, Liam.”

Liam’s post-game euphoria slipped a bit, and he gaped at his father. “I scored more than everyone else on my team combined.”

“Yes, but considering how atrocious your team is, that’s not really saying much,” his father pointed out. “And that boy on the other team, he scored almost as much as you did.”

That wasn’t true. The only person who scored even close to as many points as Liam had only made eight points, less than half of what Liam had.

“Your son did great,” his coach said, coming up to them.

“But he could have done better,” his dad said slowly.

Coach looked between the two of them, grin faltering a bit. “Yes, I suppose he could have. We all know he’s got it in him.”

“Exactly,” his father continued, and Liam stepped away from them, no longer able to listen to it. He knew how his dad could get, and their conversation would probably be a while anyways. He slipped away to go up to his friends.

“Harry wasn’t lying!” Niall said loudly. “I have no idea what was happening at all, but I think you looked the most capable out there.”

Liam grinned and it was only slightly fake. “Thanks.”

“What’s your dad doing?” Harry asked, peering around Liam’s shoulder.

Liam shrugged. “Just, you know, talking with coach about what I could have done better.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Give me your phone,” he ordered.

Liam did, but he felt a little nauseous doing so, because you could never tell what Harry was about to do. Liam watched warily as his best friend hit the keys on his phone, and then he handed it back to Liam and grabbed Liam and Niall’s arms and pulled them away.

“What are you doing?” Liam asked, but he didn’t pull out of Harry’s grip. He knew he could if he wanted to, though.

“We’re going to celebrate,” Harry said simply.

“But my dad--,”

“Knows that you’re with me. What’s he going to do, Liam, ground you? You barely leave the house anyways.”

Liam couldn’t deny that, but at the same time, he didn’t often do anything to upset his parents. It just wasn’t worth it.

“Okay,” Liam agreed, only because he really did need to get away from it all for a moment or two, and he felt better already, just chatting with Harry and Niall for a moment.

 

* * *

 

**Harry**

When he walked into the cafeteria on Wednesday, people looked up at him. Some grinned and waved and yelled greetings. A few people high-fived him. Apparently, though some people actually knew what happened, most preferred to make up in their minds what had gotten Harry Styles a week-and-a-half long suspension. According to Liam, some of the rumours were ridiculous, even for him.

He caught Liam’s eye, and ignored anyone else inviting him to sit with them. Tomorrow, he’d cart Liam off to sit with other people, but today he just wanted to sit with his friend. And he also wanted to see what Niall was going to do.

Sure, Niall had hung out with them a lot lately, even joining him to Liam’s game. That didn’t mean it would keep up at school, though. For all they knew, he could go back and sit with his old friends.

Liam was working on something -- English, probably-- but he looked up when Harry slid in beside him.

Harry was, for once, actually happy to be at school. He had community service later, but it was nice to be out of the house for more than just cleaning the park. He’d missed the social aspect of school, not that he didn’t have enough fun with Liam and Niall. It was just different, at school.

Suddenly, the room went quiet, and both he and Liam looked up, confused. Niall was standing in front of the doors to the cafeteria. His eyes flicked over everyone, and everyone was watching him, like they had their breath held, waiting to see if he would dare go back over to his group of friends after what had happened the last time he was in the cafeteria.

“Prick!” Harry heard Jake shout across the room. A few people giggled, and he could see Niall glaring at him.

“Funny, Jake,” Harry shouted at him. “Calling someone a prick when you’ve got such a small one.”

Jake turned to him, and this time a majority of the room laughed. That seemed to be all Niall needed, because he grinned and started towards Harry and Liam’s table. He sat down beside Liam, stealing one of Liam’s untouched chips. Why Liam even ordered them, Harry had no idea. He never ate anything unhealthy.

“What’s up, lads?” Niall asked easily, as if the whole room hadn’t just been focused on them. As if they weren’t still. He could hear people whispering, probably starting the next big rumour.

Liam sunk deeper into his chair and ducked his head over his books. Harry knew that the only time Liam was happy with attention was when he was playing, because he could just tune it all out.

Harry grinned at Niall. “That was dramatic.”

“Isn’t everything?” Niall asked, and neither Harry nor Liam could deny the truth in that.

He had about half an hour of downtime after school before he had to go to his community service. When Harry got home, he went straight to the fridge and made a sandwich for himself. His dad wasn’t ever home at this time, and he had the house to himself for a bit.

Or so he’d thought, until he brought his sandwich into the living room and nearly walked into Yvette, who had a towel wrapped around -- and barely concealing-- her bikini clad body. Harry averted his eyes and looked out at the pool through the glass windows of the back wall.

“Isn’t it a bit late in the year to go swimming?” Harry asked, sinking down onto the couch.

Yvette was attractive, in an older woman kind of way. In fact, if she wasn’t his father’s fiancé, he might have taken a moment to appreciate the curves of her hips and the flat planes of her stomach. As it was, he only felt vaguely uncomfortable.

Yvette shrugged and pulled her towel off to dry her long hair. “It’s heated so that it’s usable all year long,” she told him. “Of course, getting out is a bitch, but when you’re in the pool it’s actually really warm.”

“Huh,” Harry said, shoving his sandwich into his mouth, eyes on the screen.

He was aware of Yvette still standing there, a slight grin on her face, watching him. He was going to ask her what she was looking at when she shrugged again and sauntered away. He didn’t miss the way her hips swung a little too suggestively as she walked away, though, and he sighed. That, he knew, could be potentially problematic.

He ate his sandwich after that, and then put his plate in the sink.

Living with his father wasn’t… completely terrible. Thankfully, he wasn’t there most of the time, and when he was, he and Harry were both very good at avoiding each other. Except for the mandatory Thursday night dinners, Harry figured they could spend the rest of his time there without having a single proper conversation. He’d be happy with that.

He was still more than a little pissed that his father hadn’t ever mentioned Yvette. From what he knew, and from what he knew his mother knew, his father was single. In fact, Harry had a sinking suspicion that his mother still held out hope that John would come back to her. As much as him walking out of their lives hurt Harry, he knew that it hurt his mother just as much. She never moved on, never dated any one else.

Okay, she’d attempted dating, but none of the other men had lasted more than a week, two weeks at the most. John and her met in college, and they’d stayed together after that. He was the only love she’d ever had, and she convinced herself that it would all work out in the end.

Harry wished she would get over him. It wasn’t fair to her to always be waiting for someone who would never turn around and realize what was always there.

He needed to call his mum, he realized. With Gemma at Uni, he was all she had, and he’d just left without speaking to her again. Sure, it was her decision to have him go, but he knew that she did it for his own good. Not that he could see the situation helping anything at all, but still.

She picked up on the third ring. “John?” she asked, voice higher, more feminine, than usual.

“It’s me,” Harry said quietly.

“Harry,” she sighed. “I’m glad you called. I miss you.”

Harry hesitated. “I miss you, too,” he said honestly. “Lots.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Come by for tea this weekend? Or dinner. And you can bring Liam.”

Harry grinned. “Mind if I bring one more?”

His mum was quiet for a moment. “Harry, do you have a girlfriend?”

Harry laughed. “No, I don’t. Just-- there’s this guy, Niall--,”

“Oh, Harry,” his mother said. “You know I love you no matter who you chose to date.”

Harry frowned. “Yeah, I know, but he’s not my boyfriend. Not that I wouldn’t-- I mean, I might--,” he stopped himself. He was pretty sure his mum was already fully aware of the state of Harry’s sexuality. “Definitely not my boyfriend. Just a friend.”

“He can come too, then. And you can invite your father, if you like.”

_I wouldn’t like, actually_ , Harry thought, but instead he said, “And what about Yvette? She invited too?” before he could think it through.

“Who’s Yvette?” his mum asked, tone cool, emotionless.

“Erm,” Harry froze and squeezed his eyes closed. “His girlfriend. Fiancé…”

“He’s got a fiancé,” his mother said quietly.

Just as he suspected, she had no idea. Anger boiled up inside him. “He never told you? How could he not tell you? She _lives here_ for god’s sake!”

“Harry,” his mother warned. “Don’t make this about you. This is between your father and I.”

Harry stared at the wall. “You weren’t the one bombarded with her. I have to _live_ with her. And him! God, why would you send me here, mum? You know what he’s like. He’s such a prick, and--,”

“You watch your mouth, your father is not a prick.”

Harry snorted. “You know what, you’re right. He’s not a prick, and I’m sure he planned to tell you before the wedding. Maybe he was going to just mail you an invitation, have you find out then. I’ve got to go, I’ve got community service.”

He hung up after that.

When he peeled out of the driveway, his tires made a loud noise on the cement. He ignored it.

It wasn’t fair for him to put his anger towards his father on his mum. She didn’t deserve it. He just couldn’t help it. Sometimes he just got so angry, and it didn’t matter who he took it out on, as long as he let it out on _someone_.

Niall wasn’t at the park at all that day, and Harry ended up having to do twice as much work. He was going to call his friend and ask him what was up, until he remembered that he didn’t have his fucking phone, and he pushed over one of the garbage cans out of anger. Of course, he had to clean it up afterwards, but still. It had felt good at the time.

It just wasn’t right, the way his father knew everything about their lives and jumped in and out of them when he felt like, while they knew _nothing_ about him. Harry didn’t know what he did for a living. Harry had no idea if he had friends, or what he liked to do when he had time off. He knew nothing about the man that had fathered him, and yet he was supposed to look that stranger in the face and smile at him? Act as if he deserved Harry’s love, and his mother’s devotion? He didn’t.

When he got home this time, he knew no one was home. The lights were all off, and his father’s car wasn’t in the driveway. He slammed the door to his own car a little too hard.

He was tired and annoyed. His iPod had died an hour ago, and he’d had to do the rest of his work without any music, which only made his mood worsen. He was going to get inside, go upstairs, and get into bed. Hopefully when he woke up in the morning things would be better.

Except, as he headed up the stairs, his eyes caught the sun reflecting off the pool. It was still bright out, though there had been a slight crisp in the air. It would be freezing out there, he knew, but Yvette had said the pool was warm.

Without another thought, he bounded up the stairs, grabbed a towel from the closet, and then snuck into his father’s room. It took him a while to find them, since they were buried in the back of his closet, unused, but there was a pair of swimming trunks hanging there. They were bright red, and the tag was still on them. Harry figured they’d been a gift, because he couldn’t see his conservative father buying something so unconventional.

He stepped into his room after that and discarded his shirt and the rest of his clothes before pulling on the trunks. He wrapped the towel around his shoulders and headed outside.

His skin prickled with gooseflesh as the cold air hit it, but Harry ignored it as best as he could. He put the towel on the ground and then, without hesitation, dived into the deeper end of the pool.

Harry could admit that he was a bit jealous of the fact that his father had a freaking _pool_. It was huge, too, taking up a large portion of the backyard. And, just as Yvette had promised, the water was warm. Not hot tub warm, but warm nonetheless.

There had been times where his mother had struggled. In fact, Harry could remember the shitty apartment he, her and Gemma had lived in before they’d moved to the house. He remembered when, some days, they’d eat nothing but canned beans, because it was all they could afford. And all that time, his father sat on hordes of money. Enough to buy a huge, extravagant house just for _himself_. Oh, and Yvette, of course.

His body relaxed the longer he swam, but his mind didn’t. He wished he could be like Liam and drown out the world while his body worked out, but it didn’t work that way for him. That’s what he used music for, and he couldn’t listen to music and swim, not without ruining his iPod.

He was about to get out of the water and head inside when he stopped at the edge of the pool and someone asked, “Can I join you?”

 

* * *

 

**Louis**

 

He wasn’t being creepy. He wasn’t. It’s just-- he hadn’t known that Harry lived just down the street. Sure, his mum had mentioned once that John, one of their neighbours, was having his teenage son coming to live with him for a few months. He hadn’t cared, at the time. Why would he? He had more than enough friends, and if this guy was anyone important, Louis would have already met him. Or so he’d thought.

Not that Harry was important. He was a bit pretentious, actually. But ever since the night of the party, Louis had felt a weird, guilty thing settle in his stomach, and he knew what it was from. He now owed Harry. He was indebted to him in some way, and he hated that. He didn’t like owing people, or having anyone be able to hold anything over his head.

In fact, that’s probably why he was so close with Zayn. Over the years, they’d both helped each other out, and they’d both screwed up. They would forever be even, in each others eyes, and there was no debt or owing each other.

He got home from school late, having promised Eleanor to help with the dance decorations. He would be going, of course, though they’d duck out early. And then they were all meeting up at Connor’s house, where they’d all get sufficiently wasted, and this time Louis wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning up the entire mess himself. In fact, he planned to duck out without helping at all.

He’d went straight to his room when he got home. Neither of his parents were there, but that wasn’t uncommon. He was stripping out of the clothes he’d worn to school when he looked out his bedroom window. His bedroom faced the back yard, and he had a good view of most of his neighbours yards, too.

He could see the boy walking towards the pool a few doors down. He must have been cold in just the swim trunks, Louis knew, because it had been a bit chilly when he’d went from the car to the house. Just as he’d thought that, he took in the boy’s curly hair, and he’d frowned. It took a minute for the pieces to sink in. Harry being at the party, him staying later than anyone else and then, if Louis remembered correctly, he hadn’t heard a car drive away after Harry left, so he must have walked. Add in what his mum had said about John and his son, and it all clicked.

Of course, that didn’t really excuse what he did next. In fact, he had no idea why the hell he did it. Maybe he could blame it on how relaxing and calming it looked, the way Harry easily moved through the water. Or maybe it was because he needed to get it out of his system, he needed to just thank Harry for the other night and finally be done with him.

Whatever the reason, he found himself reaching into the back of his closet and pulling out his swimming shorts. He pulled a pair of track pants on over them, and a replaced his shirt with a more casual t-shirt. He stopped in the bathroom that connected to his room and grabbed his towel, too, and then he headed out the door.

John’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and he figured there was no way Harry would hear him knocking, so he just went to the gate that led to the backyard and headed towards the pool without permission.

Harry was still gliding through the water. Louis stood there, waiting. He felt stupid and ridiculous. For all he knew, Harry had cleaned himself of Louis after that night, and he never wanted to see him again. That would explain why they hadn’t spoken since then. Harry knew where he lived. If he’d wanted to, he could have come by. Not that Louis would have welcomed that, but still. He didn’t get the impression from Harry that he was shy.

Finally, after what felt like ages -- Louis was almost shivering in just his t-shirt--, Harry stopped at the edge of the pool and flicked his hair out of his face. Water flared out around him impressively, and Louis found himself struggling to pull his eyes away from Harry’s chest. The water clung to the skin there, made it slick and inviting looking, and the cool air had his nipples hardening in a way that made Louis want to run his tongue over them.

Not that he was into guys. He wasn’t. He liked girls. _Only_ girls.

He realized he was just standing there, staring, and that soon enough the water was going to run out of Harry’s eyes, and his vision would clear, and he’d realize Louis was standing there and demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing. Since he didn’t have the answer to that question, he didn’t wait for it to come.

“Can I join you?” Louis asked.

Harry looked up sharply and Louis watched, resisting the urge to smirk, as he tried to get the water off his face so he could see. Finally he managed, and he tilted his head to the side a bit. His hair was matted to his head, his unruly curls for once a bit tamed.

“Louis?”

“Yes, Louis, now can I come in or are you going to make me freeze out here?” Louis asked, arching an eyebrows.

“You-- you can come in,” Harry said slowly.

Louis grinned and tugged off his shirt. He was acutely aware of Harry’s eyes on him as he pulled off his pants, too, and then tossed his towel down beside them. The second he was undressed, the cold air seemed to intensify, and he shivered.

“’s best to just jump in,” Harry told him. “It’s a lot warmer in the water.”

Louis nodded and lowered himself to the ground by the edge of the pool and put his legs gingerly in the water. He wasn’t lying; it was warm. Slowly, Louis lowered himself into the water, all the while Harry stayed in one spot, treading water while watching him intently.

Once he was in, Louis moved farther down the pool so that his feet could touch the ground. Harry didn’t follow him. “I’m not looking forward to getting out,” Louis admitted. “It’s freezing. Why are we even doing this?”

Harry gave him a quizzical look. “I don’t know, it sounded like a good idea. I don’t know why _you’re_ here, though.”

Louis sighed and wiped a bit of water off his face. He hadn’t dunked his head under, yet. He knew his hair looked ridiculously stupid when it was wet, and for some reason he didn’t want Harry to see him like that. Why he decided to go _swimming_ with him, then, Louis didn’t know.

“Looked like fun from my window, and I guess it’s not the first time I’ve convinced myself to do something extremely stupid because it might possibly be fun.”

“You were watching me out your window?” Harry asked, moving a bit closer. He had a cheeky smile on his face, now. “Pervert.”

Louis pushed off the ground, not caring if he got his hair wet, and ducked under the water to keep Harry from seeing the slight blush that had risen to his cheeks. He didn’t surface until he hit the other end of the pool. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and turned to find where Harry was, only to realize that the other boy was only a few feet away from him.

“Thank you,” Louis found himself saying, without even meaning to. “For the other night, I mean. I probably would have stayed in that bathroom all night if it weren’t for you.”

Harry looked at him for a long moment, long enough that Louis had to look away from him. “Doesn’t it piss you off?” Harry asked finally.

“The way you keep staring at me? No, it’s more irritating than anger inducing, to be honest.”

“No, not--,” Harry shook his head. “I mean, the fact that all your friends just left you. Doesn’t that make you angry? That not _one_ of them cared enough to stay?”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “None of them knew where I was. How could they of known I might of needed help?”

Harry snorted. “I’ve known you for less than a month and I’ve worked out that you need help.”

“Do I?” Louis asked, making his eyes wide. “Well thank you, Harry, for bestowing your wisdom upon us all. I didn’t know that I needed help. Thank God you were here to enlighten me.”

The annoyance on Harry’s face slipped away, and Louis thought that maybe that was the end of the conversation. He figured he should get out of the water. Coming over here was a bad idea, obviously.

“It’s just--,” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not just you. It’s, like, everyone. I mean…” he looked so serious that Louis didn’t bother to interrupt. Whatever Harry needed to get out of his system, Louis would listen to. And then he’d get out of the pool, towel off, get dressed, and never speak to this boy with the green eyes and stupidly curly hair ever again.

“Why does everyone bother being so fake about everything? Why does everyone be friends with people they don’t like? Or people who don’t give a single fuck about them? Why do we all pretend to be happy when we’re not, or like a certain type of music because it’s popular. It’s just so… fucking bullshit.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Are you quite finished?”

Harry sighed. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he moved his arms so that his body was propelled away from Louis. “But aren’t-- aren’t you lonely?” He wondered. “If you’re always putting on an act, then no one ever gets to really know you. And that-- I guess I just think that’d be lonely.”

Louis let his words sink in, all of them, and then he squeezed his hand into a fist under the water, so hard that he knew there’d be little indentations on his palm from his nails. He did not put on an act. He was who he was. There wasn’t anything he was hiding or pretending to be, and the fact that this person who didn’t even know him dared to make those kind of assumptions about him pissed Louis off to no end.

“Here’s the thing, Harry,” Louis said, moving his hands onto the side of the pool. “You actually don’t know me. But you _think_ you do, and you’re so deeply unhappy with yourself that you’re pushing all your problems onto me. So you found me passed out in my bathroom after a party. That’s only one tiny little glimpse into my life and, except for that, you have no idea what else goes on in it. I’d appreciate if you’d keep your judgemental nose out of my business, thanks.”

He pulled himself out of the pool. It was probably a good thing, actually, this fight, because it distracted him from how cold it was. He grabbed his towel and tried to dry himself off as quickly as he could. He was still pretty damp by the time he pulled on his pants, though. He was being extremely careful not to look back at Harry.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly, and he sounded a lot closer than he should have. Louis turned in the direction his voice had come. He was standing only a few feet away from Louis, arms crossed over his chest. He had to be freezing, but his expression was sincere. “You’re right, I don’t know you. And I guess I do have a bad habit of assuming things when I don’t really know anything.”

“Yes,” Louis agreed, grabbing his t-shirt. “You do.”

“And I’m sure you’re completely happy in life,” Harry continued.

“I am,” Louis assured him.

“Good,” Harry said, and Louis wrapped his wet towel around his neck. “Do-- do you want to come in for a drink?”

Louis gave him an incredulous look. “No, I really don’t.”

Harry’s face fell. “Right, I should have expected that. I guess I kind of gave you every right to not like me.”

Louis sighed. “I couldn’t if I wanted to,” he lied, only because for some stupid reason Harry’s emotions played with his own, and he actually felt _bad_ , even though Harry was right, Louis had every reason to hate him. And he did. But he would never claim to be a maker of smart decisions. “I’ve got to meet my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend,” Harry repeated. “Eleanor, right?”

“Mhm,” Louis murmured. He looked behind him at his house. “You should get inside before you lose a limb to exposure.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“That’s one thing you’ve got right about me,” Louis told him while walking away. “I’m always right, Harry. Keep that in mind.”

He headed home after that without sparing Harry another look. In fact, he didn’t spare him another thought, either, as he entered his house. He went upstairs and grabbed his phone and called Eleanor, just for good measure. She’s come over, they’d hook up, watch some annoying movie, and Louis wouldn’t care at all about boys with green eyes and too many assumptions.

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

He knew that it was only a matter of time. In fact, it was such a surprise that it’d taken so long for it to happen, really. But he’d made it so long, years, actually, and it had never happened. Maybe he’d just figured he was lucky. Or maybe it’s because the only time he spent uptown was at Louis’, and other than that he mostly avoided the area, while they tended to stick to it.

Either way, he wasn’t prepared. They came out of nowhere, and it was like being hit with a freight train. Quick but definitely not painless.

He was shopping. Normally, he’d go to the place closer to his apartment, for convenience. He was on his way back from Steve’s, though, and he wasn’t in any rush to get home for once, so he decided to stop at the place downtown. He didn’t need much, just a loaf of bread, maybe some stuff for sandwiches, or a microwavable dinner.

He was in the frozen food isle when he heard her voice. He hadn’t spoken to her in over a year, maybe more. The last time he had, she’d shouted at him. He’d been crying, too, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone else.

“Not that one,” she snapped, and Zayn froze, hand halfway in the freezer, reaching for a box of food that no longer seemed appetising. “The blue box.”

He didn’t want to turn. He didn’t want to see them, and he didn’t want them to see him. It was like he wasn’t in control of his own body, though, and he turned anyways.

He saw his younger sisters, first. They both looked older than they had last time he’d seen them, but that wasn’t surprising, because the last time he’d seen them was four years ago, when his parents had kicked him out. He’d seen his parents since then, but they’d forbid him to talk to his sisters.

The second they seen him, one of them tugged on his mother’s shirt, and she looked down at her with a frown. “What are you--,” and then she looked up and met Zayn’s eyes.

The box his mother had been holding fell out of her hand. It his the ground and the sound seemed impossibly loud. He knew there were other people around, knew that there were other sounds, and yet in that moment it was just them and the only sound was of that stupid box hitting the ground.

“Go wait in the car,” his mother said, pushing his sisters behind herself.

Zayn resisted the urge to sneer. Or maybe he didn’t have to resist, because he barely even had it in him to move. “Don’t bother,” Zayn told them. “I’ll go.”

His mother watched him with a blank expression on his face. One of his sisters, though, gave their mother a look and then took a step towards him. “Zayn,” she said, grinning. “Zayn! Mum, it’s Zayn--,”

“Yes, honey, but he can’t stay. He’s got things to do, don’t you, Zayn?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nodded. “I’ve got banks to rob, people to kill, drugs to smoke. Later.”

He had a bag of crisps in his hand at the time, and he just dropped them, right in the middle of the floor. Kind of the way his mother’s jaw dropped. A store clerk yelled, “Hey, you can’t just do that!” but Zayn ignored her. He wouldn’t go back to this particular grocery store ever again, anyways.

He barely made it outside before his hands started to shake. He kept going, though, despite how weak his knees felt. He reached into his back pocket as he walked, not even paying attention to where he was going. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and tried to pull one out, but his fingers were shaking so bad that he dropped it and, since he kept walking, he stepped on it. He tried again and managed to get one out, and then had to stop to get the lighter working.

Finally, _finally_ , he inhaled the smoke and held it in for a beat too long, making his head feel light. He released it with a shaking breath.

Fuck. _Fuck_. Why he thought he could go the rest of his life never running into them, he didn’t know. He also didn’t expect it to hurt so much. It _shouldn’t_ hurt so much, because he’d pushed those people away a long time ago, locked his heart in a box without a key, one that shouldn’t have been able to be opened again.

And yet, all it took was his sisters, and it popped back open. It was one thing to just see his mother, who treated him like a criminal, or his father, who was all cool indifference. But his sisters? They didn’t even really know what happened to him, apparently, if their reaction to seeing him was any indication.

Of course his mum didn’t tell them. Maybe, deep down, she knew that what she’d done was wrong, and she couldn’t face admitting that, so she’d made up some elaborate lie that maybe Zayn had left for school, or maybe she told them he’d gotten arrested and put in jail. Or maybe they were told he was dead.

Even now, he couldn’t find it in himself to hate his parents. There was a part of him that did, maybe, but a large part, the part that was too strong to ignore, just wanted them back. He just wanted to turn back time to when he was younger, when he thought he could get away with anything, like smoking and stealing because it was ‘cool’. Back to when he had a home cooked dinner to go home to, and a mother who cleaned his room and yelled at him because she cared, not because she hated him.

But he’d been too much for them, apparently. He was out of control, according to his mother’s words. Now, that thought made him smile. She thought he was out of control before, but the new Zayn? He’d give her a heart attack.

There was a time where he might have made a scene in that grocery store. Where he might have tried to talk to her, try to convince her to take him back. He didn’t need to go back now, though. He was-- he was good where he was. In fact, he was better there than he would be with his parents.

Hell, every kid his age hated the restrictions their parents put on them. Zayn didn’t have that issue. He had his own money, his own place. No one breathed down his neck and made him go to school, or told him to clean his room. He was better off without them.

Or, so he tried to convince himself. The thoughts, and the cigarette, did nothing to remove the ball in his stomach that felt like it was trying to crawl its way out of him through his throat.

He didn’t even realize he was passing by the college until the shouts reached his ears. He walked by the fence that separated the sidewalk from the field, and paused.

It was Louis' fault that he didn’t keep walking, and maybe it could be blamed on his mood, too. If Louis hadn’t called him the other day, excitement in his voice, he wouldn’t have watched the rugby players, in their uniforms, running across the field or throwing the ball between each other.

“I’ve got his name,” Louis had said at the time, as a way of greeting. “The one from the party. With the puppy eyes. Harry’s friend.”

Zayn had replied much less enthusiastically. “I’m starting to think you’re the one who wants in his pants.”

Louis ignored him. “His name is Liam Payne, and he plays on the Verton rugby team. And by plays, I mean he carries the entire team on those wide shoulders of his. He’s brilliant. I’m actually impressed.”

Zayn had sighed. “Really not that interested anymore.”

Louis paused. “What do you mean you’re not interested anymore?”

“Not worth the effort.”

He imagined that Louis had rolled his blue eyes at that. “You give up so easily, Malik.”

“Only because people aren’t worth my time, Tomlinson.”

“I’m worth your time,” Louis shot back at him.

Zayn grinned at those words, torn between annoyance and fond amusement. “Sometimes.”

“Always,” Louis corrected. When he spoke again, he sounded a bit hesitant. “So you don’t want me to coerce him into handing over his number?”

“Nah,” Zayn had told him. “Don’t bother.”

Because he hadn’t cared then, and he still didn’t care now. It was too easy to point him out in the field, though. The hair was the first giveaway, followed by the way his shoulders filled out his uniform in a way the others on the team’s didn’t. They must have just been practising, but even so, Zayn could tell he was good. Not that he had a vast knowledge of rugby, but still. He was fast, and almost graceful while he moved, and Zayn found himself leaning against the fence, fingers of one hand looped around the rings of it, other hand holding his cigarettes.

And he stayed, and he smoked. Watching Liam play was almost relaxing, distracting him from what had happened at the grocery store. He went through four cigarettes, back to back, smoking them down to the filter before tossing them to the ground and lighting up another one.

Eventually the guy who must have been their coach sounded his whistle, and the team started to leave the field, all of them in groups, running and pushing each other. Except for one.

Liam jogged up to him, and the closer he got to Zayn, the more Zayn could see the affects of his workout. His hair was sweaty, and his uniform clung to him in a way that made Zayn want to take it off and taste his skin.

“Thought it was you,” Liam said breathlessly. “The-,” he waved a hand above his head, “hair.”

Zayn might have grinned at that, if it was any other day. Instead, he just stared levelly at Liam and took another drag off his cigarette.

“You’re not supposed to smoke on school property, you know,” Liam said quietly. He moved closer to the fence, and his fingers hooked into the loops the way Zayn’s were.

Zayn slowly blew out his smoke, being decent enough to tilt his head so it didn’t go in Liam’s face. “You going to tell on me, Liam?” he asked. It was his first time saying the boy’s name out loud, and he enjoyed it more than he was comfortable with.

Liam frowned, as if he was considering doing just that, but instead said, “What are you doing here?”

Zayn tossed his cigarette to the ground, despite the fact that it wasn’t even halfway finished. “I was walking by,” Zayn said casually. “Saw you playing. Decided to stay and watch for a bit.”

Liam opened his mouth once, and then closed it again for a moment. “Why?”

Zayn shrugged. “Had nothing better to do.”

“Oh,” Liam nodded. “Right.” He looked down at his watch, and Zayn looked down at it, too. He didn’t know anyone under the age of thirty even wore those anymore. “I have to go.”

Zayn nodded and released his hold on the fence. “When’s your next game?”

“Friday,” Liam answered instantly. “But--,”

Zayn smirked at him. “See you Friday, Liam.”

He walked away, knowing that Liam had no idea just how much Zayn liked saying his name, or how much he’d enjoy moaning it in bed later on, because maybe he was going to put in a bit of effort with this one. Just enough to get him out of Zayn’s head. He’d fuck him, and once that was out of his system, he’d forget Liam Payne’s existence, just like he did everyone else’s.

And hopefully Liam would help him forget his own, too, just for the night.

 

* * *

 

**Niall**

After that first day, they fell into a sort of routine. Niall talked to other people at school. In fact, there were a few of his old friends who sat beside him in certain classes, ones that didn’t really care if he punched Jake in the face - and even a few who had congratulated him for it. But other than that, Niall stuck to Liam and Harry.

It was just easier with the two of then. He formed a friendship with them both so effortlessly, and for once he didn’t find himself thinking about what he was going to say before he said it, or making sure he was wearing the right outfit, or talking to the right people in the hallways. He was just himself, and Harry and Liam took him for who he was.

Sadly, he couldn’t avoid everyone he wanted to forever, though. As much as what Maria had done upset him, he owed it to her to at least talk to her. He sent her a short text during school on Thursday. She agreed to meet with him, but could apparently only do it after school on Friday. That meant he’d be missing Liam’s game. He would have been missing his community service, too, but Paul had told them to take the day off.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry told him when he admitted that he was missing Liam’s game. “I miss loads of his games. He doesn’t really notice when we’re there, anyways. His dad’s always breathing down his neck too much for him to really focus on anyone else.”

“You sure?” Niall asked.

Harry nodded. “I’ll be there, and I’ll tell him you’re really sorry you couldn’t make it. Trust me, Liam’s not one to hold a grudge over these things. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s actually surprised when someone actually does come out for him, no matter how many times they do.”

So Friday after school he met up with Maria at the coffee place between the school and his house, Java Mix. Niall wasn’t a big fan of coffee, personally, and ordered himself a hot cocoa and then sat at a booth and waited for her.

She was late, and Niall was considering leaving. When his father texted him and told him to get home, now, his mind was made up. He was smart enough to tell when his dad was in one of those moods, and to know when making him wait would only add fuel to the fire that was his anger.

But then Maria walked in and gave him a bright smile as she slid into the booth across from him. “I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “Markson kept me after class to go over my project, and I just couldn’t get out of there.”

Niall looked down at the message from his father, and then into Maria’s large brown eyes, and pocketed his phone. He’d just deal with the consequences.

Maria reached her hand across the table and placed it on top of his. Even at their best, he didn’t really feel much towards this girl, and now he just looked at their hands, a distant feeling of annoyance bubbling up inside him.

“Maria,” he said slowly, pulling his hand away. “I didn’t ask you to meet me here so we could get back together.”

“Get back together?” she asked, frowning. “When did we break up?”

Niall gaped at her. “When I caught you hooking up with Jake, maybe?”

Maria shook her head, eyes wide and innocent. “That-- that wasn’t what happened. He kissed me. I promise. Niall, I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m not like that.”

He might have believed that, really, if he hadn’t been the one to walk in on them, if he hadn’t seen the way Maria had her arms wrapped around Jake’s neck, or the way she leant into his body, pressing hers completely against his.

“We just don’t work,” Niall said finally. He figured there was no real point in bringing all that up now. They both knew the truth and that was that.

Maria’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t work out,” she repeated. “How so?”

Niall fidgeted in his seat. “We’re into different things, we like different people.”

“Is this about you sitting with Styles and his little puppy?”

“Liam,” Niall corrected. “His name is Liam.”

Maria snorted. “Niall, come on, we both know you could do better than them. _Have_ done better than them. Is there a particular reason why you’re slumming it with the loser and the clown now, or what? Are you having some kind of personal crisis?”

Niall took he last sip of his drink and then put the drink down, shouldered his bag, and stood up. “I think this is part of the reason we didn’t really work.”

He didn’t wait for her to reply, or yell at him, or whatever she’d opened her mouth to do. He left the coffee shop and the last person tying him to people he didn’t want to be tied to anymore.

On the walk home, he waited for the annoyance or anger or even regret to settle in. They didn’t. In fact, he felt better than he had walking into the coffee shop, which shouldn’t have made sense, but it kind of did, at the same time.

When he walked into his house, he almost forgot about the text from his dad.

The coffee table in the living room was littered with empty beer bottles. Someone had put out half a dozen cigarettes directly on the table, too, and the television played loudly in the background. No one was in the room, though.

Niall slipped off his shoes and put his bag and sweater in the closet.

“No fucking food in this stupid fucking house,” he heard his dad grumble, and Niall held his breath. “I know you’re here, boy.”

He swallowed and moved to put his shoes back on. Maybe it would be best to just duck back out and wait for him to calm down. Except Niall knew his dad, and he knew that he wouldn’t calm down. He’d just get angrier.

“I can go out and pick something up,” Niall said quietly.

His dad appeared in the doorway, a half empty beer bottle in his hand. “You can go out and pick something up,” his father repeated. “No shit, why do you think I told you to get home?”

Niall chewed the inside of his lip. “I’m sorry. I had to stay after school to work on--,”

“I called your school,” his dad told him, a smirk lighting up his reddened face. “Said you left on time.”

“I was-,”

“Lying to me again,” his father finished for him. “Always lying, aren’t you? Just like your slut of a mother.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not-,”

The bottle hit the door beside his head. He felt a few shards of it stick into his cheek and he flinched, throwing up his hand to ward off any other dangers. “Don’t talk back to me,” his father ordered. “You get your ass in this kitchen.”

Niall rubbed a hand over his face and carefully attempted to remove the piece of the bottle from his cheek. His fingers came back stained red, but he knew the cuts weren’t bad. They were just superficial, nothing to really worry about too much.

He followed his father into the kitchen, because he knew it would be a lot worse if he didn’t.

His dad grabbed him by the back of the neck and ushered him towards the fridge. He pulled it open, not noticing or not caring that the door hit Niall painfully hard on the shoulder. He pushed Niall down until his face was right in the fridge.

“What do you see?” he asked.

“N-nothing,” Niall said quickly.

“Exactly,” his dad agreed, and then he pulled Niall away from the fridge, only to push him away from him. Niall’s leg hit the kitchen table, and he tripped, falling onto his back, his hands coming out to brace his fall. “There’s nothing there! And do you want to know why? Because I support this family. You don’t do _shit_. You’re not a kid anymore. You should be pulling your own weight around here.”

Niall stayed where he was, unmoving and unspeaking. It was best, in times like these, to just take it and wait for it to be over. His dad would get out of his mood after he took it out on Niall, and then things would be fine.

“Stand up,” his father told him. Niall didn’t move. The booted foot connected with his side, and he couldn’t help it; he cried out. “Get up!”

Niall scrambled to his feet, clutching at his side. His breathing was unsteady, like he couldn’t fill his lungs with air. His dad grabbed him by he back of the neck again, and this time he knew there’d be fingerprint shaped bruises there later on.

He ushered Niall to the front door, and then pulled it open and pushed him outside. Niall’s sock feet hit the cold pavement and he winced. “Come back when you have a job, or don’t bother coming back at all.”

He slammed the door closed between them, and Niall could hear the sound of the lock turning. He looked around, making sure no one had seen what had just happened. No one had. Or if they did, everyone in their neighbourhood had already learned to turn the other way when stuff like that happened at his house.

He eyes were blurry, but he wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t going to try to get back in, either, because he knew that, until his dad passed out, his reaction to seeing Niall in the house again would be much worse than what had just happened.

He padded down the street in nothing but his socks and a thin t-shirt that did little to protect him from the cold, late October air. He stood at the corner and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He knew how he must have looked, barely dressed, cheeks stained red with blood that he couldn’t seem to wipe off no matter how many times he ran a hand over his face. He sent a simple text, and then waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, just a headsup, I won't be able to update for a few days (the last three days I've updated every night) because I want to finish writing the rest of this, so that it will all be fully complete. And, I would also like to say that every pairing in this fic ( and yes, Niall is getting a girlfriend, just... it's not tagged because SPOILERS) should get relatively the same amount of focus. What I mean is that right now, or for the first two chapters, it was mostly Ziam, but Larry IS going to be a big part of this fic, it's just not the same immediate attraction as Ziam. :) Also thank you so much for the reviews you guys! You're all so lovely. <3


	4. Chapter 4

 

**Liam**

He’d played so well during the first half of the game. Even his father had taken a moment to come up behind him on the bench and whisper a, “Good start,” in his ear. He could see Harry, on the top of one of the bleachers, sitting beside a pretty girl with red hair and cheering him on, too. He’d explained that Niall wasn’t able to make it, but Liam didn’t mind. He didn’t expect them to actually come to all of his games, and it was more than enough that Harry was there.

He didn’t expect _him_ to be at his game, either. He hadn’t noticed him until the ten minute break, when he was sitting on the bench, chugging back a bottle of Gatorade. He was in the same spot he’d been last time but now he was leaning against the fence, his face, from what Liam could see, an expression of casual indifference. Liam watched as he brought his hand to his mouth and took a drag of his cigarette, holding in the smoke for a beat, and then letting it out so that it clouded around him.

He remembered Zayn asking when his next game was, and telling Liam that he’d see him then. He hadn’t actually thought he meant it, though. In fact, he’d done his best to just forget that whole conversation, because he didn’t know what to think of Zayn.

Zayn, with his leather jacket and constant cloud of cigarette smoke. With his high-styled hair, and dark eyes. And the reputation that preceded him. Who Niall had told him to stay away from.

Liam could do that, stay away from Zayn. If Zayn would just stay away from him. Except he kept turning up, when Liam least expected it, after that first time in front of the police station.

Then, he’d disliked Zayn instantly. Had labelled him ‘the boy who sold Harry the weed’ and that was that. He didn’t really fit in with people like that. He’d never smoked a joint in his life, or tried anything stronger, either. And he definitely wasn’t looking to befriend a drug dealer.

And yet, the more Zayn turned up, the less Liam felt like telling him to go away. The issue was that Zayn confused him. If Liam had been Harry, or even Niall, it would have made sense. He was used to seeing people -- male and female-- flock to his best friend. Harry just had one of those personalities that drew people in, made them want to get to know him. Liam was not like that. It wasn’t that he didn’t like people, he just knew that, the more they got to knew him, the less they’d like _him_. It was easier to keep everyone at a distance. Keep his nose down, get his scholarship, and move on with his life.

Zayn Malik paying attention to him didn’t make any sense at all.

Just as he thought that, he thought that he caught Zayn smirking at him. He had half a mind to get up and walk over to him, to demand to know what he was even doing there, like he had when he’d caught Zayn watching him at practise.

Coach ended up blowing his whistle before Liam could talk himself into getting up.

He got back onto the field and played. This time, though, he was distracted. He wished he hadn’t noticed Zayn standing there, ,because after that, it was all he could pay attention to. Whenever he’d run to the side of the field closest to the fence, his eyes would meet Zayn’s. Twice, he fumbled the ball and missed a toss.

“Liam!” his coach shouted. “Get your head out of your ass or I’m pulling you off the field!”

Liam ran a hand through his hair and resisted the urge to turn around and see if Zayn was still there. He sincerely hoped he wasn’t, but it was like Liam could _feel_ Zayn’s eyes on him, and that thought made him feel both too hot and too cold, at the same time, and he had no idea why.

He did his best to stay in the game after that. He pointedly ignored Zayn’s existence, averting his eyes from the fence at all cost. He played the rest of the game with barely any other faults, and they won by a huge margin. Still, it was one of his weakest games. He knew it and his dad certainly would know it.

When he got back to the bench, he could already see his dad walking towards him. Liam shot a panicked look to Harry, and then looked over his shoulder to where he’d last seen Zayn. The other boy was gone.

Harry seemed to realize what Liam needed, though, at least, and he jumped off the bleachers and intercepted Liam’s dad before he could make it to Liam’s bench.

That’s when he spotted Zayn again. This time, he was inside the fence. He was leaning against one of the bleachers that the opposing team’s supporters sat at, and Liam looked at him for a long moment before jogging over to where he stood.

There was a slight smirk on Zayn’s face when Liam stopped a few inches from him. “You’re sweaty,” he commented.

Liam looked down at himself. His uniform stuck to his chest and back, and he knew his hair was dripping with sweat. “Yeah,” he admitted, but that wasn’t really important at the moment. “Why are you here?”

Zayn raised an eyebrow. “I told you I’d be here.”

Liam frowned at that because he still couldn’t figure out _why_ , and Zayn apparently wasn’t going to tell him anytime soon. “You can’t be here next time.”

Zayn chuckled at that and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Who said I was going to be?”

Liam’s cheeks went red with embarrassment. Of course he wouldn’t be. It was surprising that he’d even been at this game.

“Right,” Liam nodded. “It’s just-- you distracted me. I usually play a lot better than that.”

Zayn smirked fully at those words, and he reached out to curl his fingers underneath the hem of Liam’s shirt, pulling it away from the skin. “I distracted you,” he repeated.

Liam took a step back. “Yeah, you did, and my dad’s going to kill me.”

Zayn pursed his lips. “You were the best one out there. Distracted or not.”

Liam ran a hand through his hair, fingers coming back a bit damp. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t really matter to him.”

Zayn opened his mouth to say something, but someone slammed hard into Liam’s back before he could.

“We’ve got to go,” Harry said hurriedly. He looked between Liam and Zayn, a frown on his face. “What are you doing here?” he asked Zayn.

Zayn scowled at Harry. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Harry made a face at him but then shook his head. “We’ve got to go,” he repeated. “Like, now. Before your dad comes over here and drags you home.”

There was a slightly panicked tone in Harry’s voice, and Liam gave him a concerned look. “What’s wrong?”

Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket-- wait, no, that wasn’t Harry’s phone. Harry had his phone taken away. That was _Liam’s_ phone. “I was standing by the bench, stopping your dad from coming over here to chew you out, right, when your phone started ringing in your bag. And I was like, who the hell would be texting Liam when I’m right here, and he doesn’t have any other friends? And then I realized it was probably Niall, so I broke into your bag-- don’t give me that look, Liam-- and checked it. And--,” he pointed to the screen. “We’ve got to go get him.”

Liam looked down at his phone and quickly read over the words.   
  
_I know it’s not 2am, but I kind of need help. Can you pick me up down the street from my place? -- N.H._

He felt Zayn reading the text over his shoulder and, while that normally would have annoyed him, he didn’t really have the time to care about it right then. “My dad--,”

“Is a prick,” Harry said quickly, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go. We promised we’d be there for him, and he must really need our help or he wouldn’t have sent that. So come on.”

Liam nodded. He hoped his dad would have the sense to grab his bag from the bench, or that at least one of his team mates would bring it into the locker room.

“Want me to come?” Zayn asked as Liam started following Harry away from the bleachers and towards the parking lot. “You might need help, and I’m pretty good in bad situations.”

Liam frowned at that, but Harry just shrugged and continued to lead them towards his car. Liam got in the passenger seat, and Zayn sat in the back. The second he started up the car, Harry pressed play on the CD player. Paper Route’s _Letting You Let Go_  started playing immediately, and Liam only recognized the song because the band was one of Harry’s favourites, and one of the only ones that Liam actually enjoyed too.

“You listen to Paper Route?” Zayn asked.

Liam looked at him in the rear view mirror, while Harry turned all the way around. Liam considered berating him for that, but he turned back to face the road once again, and Liam let Harry’s dangerous driving go.

“Yeah,” Harry said, and Liam could hear the slight tone of respect in his voice. “They’re great.”

Zayn made a sound of agreement and when Liam turned to look at him again, he winked.

When they pulled up at the end of Niall’s street, everyone was silent. Harry reached over and turned down the music as he pulled up beside where Niall stood at the corner, and Liam couldn’t do anything but look at their newest friend as he quietly climbed into the back seat beside Zayn and shut the door.

Niall muttered a quiet “Thanks,” and then looked pointedly out his window.

Harry turned the music back up, this time louder than before, almost too loud, and started driving. There was a tightness to Harry’s mouth, and Liam could see his fingers turning white around the steering wheel.

They must have been on the same page, then. The same conclusions must have sunk in for both of them as they had taken in Niall, wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt, with no shoes on, just a few houses down from his own. His cheek was a bloody mess, red streaking down the left side of it. There was a bit on his hand, too, from where he must have tried to wipe it off, and when he’d turned to get in the car, Liam’s eyes hadn’t missed the red marks at the back of his neck.

He wasn’t sure how long it took them to get to Harry’s street, but the drive seemed to go on endlessly with nothing but the music filling the car. What no one was saying seemed louder than anything else, and Liam finally understood what Harry meant when he said silence was so loud.

Harry stopped the car at the end of his dad’s street and turned down the music once more. “My dad’s home,” he said, and Liam followed his train of sight to where John’s car sat in the driveway. “He’s going to ask questions.”

Liam looked down at his lap, lost in thought. He knew his father wasn’t the best, but he’d never laid a hand on him. He had no doubt in his mind that that’s what had happened to Niall. Nothing else fit. And then, his mind wandered back to the other times he’d seen Niall marked up. Niall had claimed that they’d happened at fights at parties, or clubs. Liam wondered if any of that was true, and doubted it. He’d seen Niall drunk, and he hadn’t seemed like the violent, fighting type. In fact, he’d been all smiles and laughter and hugs.

“Pull into Lou’s place,” Zayn said, and Liam jolted, having forgot he was even in the car.

He caught the look of doubt on Harry’s face, but he complied, and Liam looked into the back only long enough to see Zayn pocket his cellular phone.

There was only one car in Louis’ lot, and Harry pulled up behind it. The second the car stopped, Zayn was out, door closing loudly behind himself. The rest of them just sat there.

“You coming or not?” Zayn demanded, turning to face the car with a raised eyebrow.

Harry unhooked his seat belt. “Come on,” he said, pushing open his own door. Niall followed him a moment later, and then Liam exited the vehicle, too.

With Niall a few paces in front of him, he got a better look at his neck. It was red and bruised, and he wondered how much force had to of been applied to cause a mark like that. Liam was used to getting hurt during his games, but he’d never really been in a fight before. Had never had a person put their hands on him out of anger.

Zayn walked straight into Louis’ house without knocking. The other three hesitated, but he’d left the door wide open. Again, Harry was the first to move, and Liam was the last one in the door.

“There’s a bathroom upstairs, third door on the left,” Louis said, appearing in the hallway. “There are hand towels under the sink. Just throw it in the trash when you’re done.” He spoke directly to Niall. “We’ll be in the living room.”

They all watched as Niall went upstairs, his shoulders slumped in a way Liam had never seen before.

“So,” Louis said, dragging out the ‘o’. “Are we going to talk about what the hell is going on, or are we just going to ignore it?”

Harry had his hands in the pockets of his pants, and he shrugged his shoulders. Liam found himself watching Zayn, who was toeing off his shoes while digging around his back pocket. He produced a cigarette pack and lighter, and took one of the sticks out of the pack and put it between his lips.

“Zayn?” Louis tried.

Zayn just shrugged and said, around the filter of his cigarette, “I’m going out for a smoke.”

“Oh, right,” Louis said, following after Zayn. Harry followed them, too, and Liam had nothing else to do but the same. “Just use my house as a shelter for the young and battered and not tell me a thing about it. That’s fine.”

“Pretty much,” Zayn said easily, pushing open the sliding door in the living room and stepping outside. Harry remained inside, and Louis flopped onto his own couch with an annoyed look on his face. Liam found himself following Zayn outside, and shutting the door behind himself.

Zayn didn’t look up as he lit the cigarette. He just leaned against the wall and stared straight ahead. Liam moved to stand beside him, but when his back hit the wall, he no longer had the energy to stay upright. It had been a long day, first with the game, and then with everything else.

He kept his back to the wall as he sunk down to the ground, sitting with his legs laid out straight in front of him. A moment later, Zayn did the same, sitting close enough that his thigh pressed against Liam’s.

“That happen a lot?” Zayn questioned.

Liam shrugged and watched as a leaf fell from the tree in the yard and into the pool. “I don’t know,” Liam admitted. “It-- it could, maybe. I just-- I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

“You want one?” Zayn asked, holding out the cigarette pack.

Liam shook his head. “I don’t smoke.”

Zayn apparently found that amusing, because he chuckled. “Of course you don’t,” he said, shoving the pack into his front pocket.

Liam chose to ignore that. “Are you and Louis really close?” he asked instead, because he didn’t want to really think about anything important at that moment. He just wanted to sit and let himself relax until Niall got finished cleaning himself up, and then they really talked about what happened. They’d have to talk about it, at least a little. He figured Niall wouldn’t want to, and maybe it’d be best to let Harry cover that, because Harry was pushy and would demand answers, when all Liam would want to do is wrap his arms around Niall’s shoulders and let him work it out in his own time, which may never come.

Zayn’s lips quirked up, like he was amused by the question. Or maybe Liam amused him. “Yeah,” Zayn answered. “He’s my best mate.”

“Really?” Liam asked. That was a bit surprising, given what he’d seen of Louis’ personality. They didn’t seem very alike, but then again, anyone could say the same for himself and Harry. “How’d you meet?”

“We grew up together.”

Liam nodded, trying to imagine Zayn as a child. He kept picturing a little kid running around in a leather jacket with Zayn’s normal quiff, and smiled a bit at how ridiculous that would’ve looked. “You live around here, then?” Liam asked.

Zayn’s amused smile slipped from his face, and he took a hall off his smoke before answering. “I used to.” His tone made it clear that he wasn’t willing to answer anymore questions on that subject.

“Do you know Niall well?” Liam asked instead.

Zayn frowned and cocked his head to the side. “Not really.”

“Oh,” Liam looked down at his hands. “He seems to know you pretty well.”

“Most people think they do,” Zayn said while butting out his cigarette. He didn’t make any move to get up, though, and neither did Liam.

A moment later the sliding door opened and Niall peaked his head out. Instantly, the difference was noticeable. His face was cut, but there was no blood, and he didn’t look as defeated as he had before he’d gone into the bathroom. In fact, there was a wide grin on his face, though Liam thought it looked a bit put on.

“We’re about to start a foosball tournament,” Niall informed them.

“Oh, god,” Zayn muttered, pushing himself off the ground. Liam watched as Zayn’s hands wiped the non-existent dirt off his back pockets before realizing that he was, in fact, staring at Zayn’s bum. He looked away. “You shouldn’t have let Lou talk you into that.”

Niall ignored the warning in Zayn’s voice. “You guys coming, or what?”

Liam stood up and did the same as Zayn had before following both of them into the house and then down another set of stairs to a large, decked out basement. Louis and Harry were already down there, the two of them hunched over the foosball table, looking a bit too intense for it to be just a friendly game.

“Let’s do teams,” Zayn said, walking up to them. He wrapped an arm around Liam’s shoulder. “I call Liam. Louis can play the winning team, because trust me, you guys don’t want to play with him.”

“Shut up, Zayn,” Louis said without looking up.

Liam found himself fighting the urge to lean into Zayn’s body, which didn’t make any sense to him. Except maybe it did, a bit, because Zayn smelled really good, like some kind of cologne mixed with cigarette smoke which, normally, might have bothered him, but on Zayn it just added to the whole dizzying affect.

He reached out a hand and put it on Niall’s arm. Niall looked away from the intense game Louis and Harry were playing and gave Liam a more natural smile, one that wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as his previous one. Liam squeezed his arm a bit and then let go of him.

They’d deal with it all later. For now, the five of them just needed to relax and do something fun and silly and unimportant.

 

* * *

 

**Harry**

In the end, they did play teams-- only after Harry lost spectacularly to Louis, who looked so smug Harry wanted to throw something at him. He wasn’t even sure how they started their game; one minute, Niall had come downstairs, looking distraught and uncomfortable, and the next Louis had ushered them to the basement and distracted them all by pointing out the foosball table and challenging them both to a game.

Harry lost again, this time to Liam and Zayn. Zayn was almost as good as Louis, and though Liam fumbled a bit (“I’ve never played foosball,” he’d admitted, and Zayn had said, “Don’t worry, babe, I’ve got us covered.”), Harry and Niall got their arses kicked.

After that, Niall shouldered Harry out of the way with a quick, “I’ll do better without you holding me back,” and Harry laughed and sat down on the couch, where Louis had already sprawled out after winning his game.

Louis’ basement was more decked out than Harry’s entire house with his mom. The TV was huge, and he had every possible videogame system hooked up to it. He was watching some reality show with a bored but somehow still slightly smug expression on his face when Harry flopped down beside him, close enough that his shoulder bumped into Louis’.

He knew that the last time he and Louis had spoken, they hadn’t left on the best terms. And that was his fault. He’d went off on Louis about things he had no right even talking about or saying, and he was still upset at himself for that. And also a bit upset that he’d wasted a perfectly good opportunity to ogle the other boy while he was shirtless and dripping with water.

Because Louis had looked good in Harry’s dad’s pool. He could admit that. There was something about seeing that perfectly styled hair messed up, those carefully picked out clothes discarded, that did it for Harry. Other than that, Louis was definitely not his type. Not because he was a guy -- Harry had gotten over his own ability to find both men and women attractive years ago-- but because he was a bit stuck up and ‘too good for everything’ and Harry didn’t really got on well with people like that.

Still, no one could deny what Louis had done for them today. Not just letting them in the house and letting Niall clean himself up a bit, but for putting that wide, carefree smile back on Niall’s face.

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly, so the others wouldn’t hear. Not that it was much of an issue, since Niall was swearing loudly, and Liam had adopted some sort of weird chuckle/giggle that he’d never heard the boy use before he was in Zayn’s presence.

Louis didn’t move his eyes from the television screen. “Mm? For what?”

“You know what,” Harry told him, following Louis’ lead. He had no idea what they were watching, but there was a nearly half naked drunk girl on the screen, fighting with some other girl who kept calling her colourful names.

Louis’ lips quirked up a bit. “Yes, well, remember how you said you only knew me a week and you could tell I needed help? You’re not the only one who’s a good judge of that.”

“So you’re admitting it then,” Harry said slowly. “That you needed help.”

Louis’ lips now tightened into a thin line. “Every time I consider the fact that you might not be a prick, you go and prove otherwise.”

“Ouch,” Harry said, clutching dramatically at his heart. “You wound me, Louis.”

Louis rolled his eyes and put his arm on the back of the couch. It brushed Harry’s shoulder, but neither of them moved. “Oi,” Louis called, looking over the back of the couch to where the others were still playing foosball. “You lads almost done?”

Harry watched as Niall threw up his hands. “I’m done,” he announced. “I can’t win.”

He came over to the couch and sat down beside Harry. The couch wasn’t very big, though, and Harry had to shift over, closer to Louis, so that their sides were pressed against each other. Louis jumped up at that, and Harry tried not to think too much about the slight blush in his cheeks.

‘You two think you can take on the Tommo?” Louis asked Liam and Zayn.

“You call yourself the Tommo?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes, I do, _Harold_ ,” Louis snapped at him, eyes narrowed to slits.

Harry raised his eyebrows, giving Louis an incredulous look. “That’s not even my actual name.”

“You boys ready to lose?” Louis asked, ignoring him.

Harry and Niall watched with raised eyebrows as Louis took on Liam and Zayn. Or, Niall watched the game, Harry watched the three of them. Watched the way Louis bit his lip in concentration, or the way Liam’s cheeks turned red every time Zayn called him babe, or praised him for doing well.

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that one, actually. He didn’t really know Zayn at all, and after that conversation the other night with Louis, he realized that maybe he shouldn’t judge people so quickly. Still, Liam was his best mate, and he didn’t want to see him get hurt by someone whose attention may only be fleeting.

Sure, Liam was more than capable of handling himself in most situations. In fact, Harry often teased him for being so old, for being so _responsible_ and _sensible_. But at the same time, Liam hadn’t ever been with _any_ one. Okay, he’d made out with a girl once at a party, but that was about as far as Liam went into the realms of romance. And from what Harry could guess, Zayn wasn’t exactly inexperienced.

He pushed those thoughts away, though, because right now, it was all just harmless. And Niall was still sitting beside him, and Harry could see the marks that no amount of soap and water would clean off the back of his neck.

“Hey, Niall?” Harry asked quietly.

Niall turned away from the game and frowned at him. “Mm?”

Harry hesitated. He didn’t know how to bring it up, and he didn’t want Niall to instantly shut down, either. He didn’t have any prior experience with something like this, but he wanted to help Niall as best as he could.

“Your dad do that to you?” Harry asked ineloquently. He winced at his own words.

Niall looked down at his hands. It was weird, seeing him so reserved. Usually, Niall was all smiles and laughter and curse words. Now, his shoulders were slumped and his mouth was a thin line.

He looked up finally and ran a hand through his currently spiked up blonde hair. “I guess I’ve never told anyone about it before, so I don’t really-- I don’t really know how to talk about it? And to me, it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal, because I’ve just gotten used to it. It’s just my life, you know?”

Harry frowned and resisted the urge to put a hand on the arm of his newest friend. “I don’t,” he said honestly. “But I know you shouldn’t be used to that. It’s not-- it’s not right.”

Niall nodded and sighed. “It used to only be when he was in a bad mood and I happened to do something to piss him off. It wasn’t even bad, just a punch or two, or a too hard shove. But then it happened more often, every time he’d get drunk, or his favourite team lost a game. And I’d be there for him to take it out on.”

“Niall,” Harry said softly, the words of the others behind them fading.

“I don’t want you to feel bad for me,” Niall said quickly. “I can handle it, you know. It’s just that, like, you lads actually realized it, and I never had to tell you. No one’s ever really paid enough attention to notice, and I guess that’s why I’ve never talked about it.”

Harry put an arm around Niall’s shoulder and then leaned his head on Niall’s arm. Niall let him. “You know,” Harry said quietly. “I’m not letting you go home tonight, okay?”

Niall laughed half-heartedly. “I don’t think I really want to, anyways.”

Harry nodded, understanding that, even if he didn’t know the whole situation. He hoped that Niall would open up about it when he was able to, but for now he’d take what Niall gave him, and leave it at that.

“You always have somewhere to stay though,” Harry added anyways. “We’re your mates now, and you’re stuck with us. I don’t know if you know this, but Liam really likes to be the mother hen, and we’re going to do everything to help when you need it, whether you want it or not.”

“Really,” Niall said, and Harry could see the smile on his face. “Guess I really don’t have a choice, then.”

“Nope,” Harry agreed. “You don’t.”

Eventually Louis kicked them out with, “My girlfriend’s coming over, you’ve all got to go. Except you,” he said to Zayn. “You I’m willing to drive home first.”

Liam ended up staying at Harry’s, too, after admitting that his dad was pissed at him for leaving after the game, and that he didn’t want to deal with it yet.

Harry had a bit of money saved up from when he’d worked at the bakery last year, and Liam’s mum or dad always made sure to give him lunch money, which Liam horded and saved up, and the two of them split on Chinese takeaway, which they ate on Harry’s bedroom floor.

When they were all full and tired, Harry grabbed a bunch of blankets and pillows from the linen closet and spread them out on the floor by his head, using them as a makeshift bed, and the three of them sprawled out there.

“I feel like a twelve year old girl at a slumber party,” Niall commented from Harry’s left. “Are we going to start talking about what boys we think are just the _cutest_?”

“I think Liam’s the cutest,” Harry answered.

“Aw,” Liam cooed. “I think Niall’s cuter.”

“I feel uncomfortable,” Niall joked.

“No one thinks I’m the cutest,” Harry pouted.

“I think Louis does,” Liam put in.

Niall cackled at that, and Harry starting making a spluttering coughing sound, choking on nothing but air. “What?” he demanded.

Liam shrugged. “You two were getting pretty flirty over that game of foosball.”

Harry gaped at him. “You’re one to talk! Zayn undressed you with his eyes so many times tonight that even _I_ felt violated.”

Now it was Liam’s turn to splutter and gasp out, “What?”

“He’s not as bad as I thought,” Niall said quietly. “Zayn, I mean.”

Harry rolled over to face him, a frown on his face, and Niall shrugged.

“I still think you shouldn’t get too close to him, though,” Niall added.

Harry turned to Liam then, too, and even in the dark he could see the colour in his best friend’s cheeks. “Me too,” Harry admitted. “Only ‘cause I don’t want you to get hurt. Nothing against Zayn. I’m sure he’s great.”

Liam looked honestly baffled. “I really don’t understand why I can’t be friends with him. It’s not like he’s going to convince me to rob a bank and do cocaine.”

“Friends,” both Harry and Niall repeated, at the same time. The two of them shared a look, and Harry realized that maybe Liam really did have absolutely no idea that Zayn was obviously into him. Which, now that he thought about it, wasn’t that surprising. Liam had a shockingly low amount of self confidence for the school’s star rugby player, and a guy who was honestly pretty good looking, from an objective standpoint (because, into guys or not, Harry had never been able to look at Liam like that).

Eventually they all fell asleep, Niall and Liam both snoring loudly. Harry didn’t miss when his father opened the door to check on them, but he pretended to be asleep. He noticed the content, happy look on his father’s face, though, and after that, Harry couldn’t get back to sleep.

He felt wired, and guilty, and just too hyped up after everything that had happened that day. His father looking so happy to see all of them there was just not fair. He couldn’t just walk into Harry’s life, all kind smiles and wanting to bond, not after what he’d done.

He knew that he was bad about holding grudges. It was something that both his mum and Liam had pointed out to him many times; it was just that Harry was the type of person who threw himself into caring. When he loved someone, he loved them with all he had. And once someone did something to betray that, there wasn’t any way for him to get over that.

He wasn’t sure what time it was when he got up. Niall was curled on his side, legs drawn up to his chest. Liam was sprawled out, legs spread wide, one arm over his face while the other had been around Harry’s waist. Harry was careful not to wake either of them when he moved.

He grabbed his keys from his dresser, and for good measure grabbed a bit of money, and then he snuck out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door.

Nothing could be done for how loud his car was, and most of the neighbourhood must have been asleep, because almost every house was dark. Except Louis’. His car was still the only one in the lot, and when Harry slowly drove by, he couldn’t help but peer closely at the house. He thought that maybe Louis and his girlfriend were still awake, but he could see through the opened curtains in the front room that it was just Louis, sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of tea in his hand, doing what Harry guessed to be homework.

He looked at the time on his dashboard-- the bright lights flashing the numbers 2:14-- and then kept driving.

Barely anything was open, but that wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t until he drove past the same McDonalds twice that he finally gave in and went through the drive thru. When the worker asked him what he wanted, though, he found himself getting two of everything.

Ten minutes later, he parked his car and pocketed his keys before grabbing the greasy food bags and the tray of two large Cokes. He shut the car door quietly, gave his father’s house one last look, and then walked across the neighbours lawns until he got to Louis’ house.

He was still sitting alone in the dinning room. Harry knocked on the door, hoping that he really was the only one there, because he’d feel like a prick if he woke someone up.

He shifted his feet, suddenly feeling really, really stupid. He didn’t even know what he was doing there. Then again, he was known for making rapt, stupid decisions without thinking them through.

When Louis opened the door, he frowned and then his eyes narrowed when he took in Harry, standing there awkwardly. “Do you realize what time it is?” Louis demanded, putting a hand on his hip.

Harry grinned sheepishly. “Your light was on,” he said. “And I brought food?”

Louis looked down at the bags in his arms, his nose wrinkling up. “Is that McDonalds?”

“It was the only thing open,” Harry explained.

Louis gave him a long, hard look, and then said, “I suppose you want me to invite you in.”

Harry shrugged. “You don’t have to.”

The other boy rolled his eyes and opened the door wide enough for Harry to enter. He did, shuffling the bags in his arms so they didn’t fall, and then stepped on the heels of his shoes to get them off.

Louis went right back into the dinning room, and Harry followed him, placing the bags on the table. Louis sat down but Harry didn’t, instead choosing to look over Louis’ shoulder to see what he was working on.

“What is this?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Louis looked up at him sharply, and covered the papers. “I really don’t think that’s any of your business.” Harry tried not to be amused by that, and failed, while he slipped into the seat beside Louis, and Louis sighed loudly. “Fine, it’s just this-- this play. Our school does two every year, one during first term, one during second. The first one is always some famous play or musical, like _Romeo and Juliet_ , or we did _Grease_ last year. And then the one after the break is always an original piece, written by one of the older students from the theatre class.”

Harry pulled out the burgers and chips from the bag, sliding one of each to Louis, and then passed him a drink, too. “So you want them to do yours,” Harry guessed.

Louis shrugged casually, like it wasn’t a big deal to him, but Harry didn’t miss the slight flush in his cheeks. “Maybe. It doesn’t have to be completed until the first week of December, and then the day before Christmas holidays they announce the one we’re going to do.”

“What’s it about?” Harry asked through a handful of chips.

Louis made a face at him. “I’ll let you know when I’m finished.”

Harry’s expression brightened at that. “Really?”

Louis opened his mouth to answer, but instead decided to just take a bite of his burger. Harry watched as he chewed it, swallowed, and then let out a breathless, “Oh, dear god, that is good.”

Harry grinned at him, eyebrows raised. “You say that like you’ve never had a Big Mac before.”

Louis put on that superior look again. “I haven’t in years. Do you realize how bad this is for you?”

Harry bit into his own burger and then, for good measure, said with his mouth full, “Most good things are.”

Louis rolled his eyes but kept eating, putting his food down only long enough to take a sip of his drink, or jot something down quickly on his paper.

“So what is this?” he asked finally. “You coming over here at three in the morning, with greasy food.”

Harry took a long sip of his coke before answering. “I couldn’t sleep, and I noticed that your light was on, so I thought I’d stop by,” Harry explained. “And I guess I kind of owe you, for today, with Niall and everything.”

“ _You_ don’t owe me,” Louis told him. “I did it for Niall, not you. I happen to like the little Irish lad. You, on the other hand…”

Harry gave him a fake, wounded look. “You don’t like me, even after I let you win at foosball?”

Louis snorted but his lips curled upwards, almost as if he couldn’t help it. “You didn’t let me win and we both know it.”

Harry shrugged. “Sure, if that helps you sleep at night.”

“If it did, I wouldn’t be up right now,” Louis pointed out.

“True,” Harry admitted.

They were quiet after that for a bit, until Louis asked, “What are you doing up, anyways? You said you couldn’t sleep. Why?”

Harry didn’t know how to answer that, because he didn’t know why Louis asked. It could have just been to make small talk, which was likely, or he might genuinely want to know, which was not. Either way, Harry found himself _wanting_ to tell Louis the truth, wanting to admit that he was worried about Niall, and so angry at his dad, and angry at himself for a lot of things, like not calling his mum more often, or not realizing what was wrong with Niall before, or even for how he’d treated Louis the other day.

Instead of voicing any of that, though, he put down his drink and stood up. “You want to do something fun?”

Louis raised his eyebrows. “It’s three in the morning, Harry. There’s not much fun to be had.”

Harry grinned. “Come on, I bet you’ve never pool hopped before.”

“Obviously, what would be the point? I’ve got my own.”

“Yeah, but is yours heated all year round?”

Louis considered that. “No,” he admitted. “But--,”

“So let’s go,” he said, extending his hand to Louis.

Louis looked down at his papers, and then back up at Harry’s face. Finally, he sighed and got up, ignoring Harry’s outstretched hand, but he followed Harry anyways.

“Wait,” Louis said when Harry led him to Louis’ back door. “I need to get my swim trunks.”

Harry laughed and pushed open the sliding door. “You don’t wear swim trunks when you go pool hopping.”

“Okay,” Louis said slowly. Harry could tell that he was more than a little hesitant, but he figured that Louis had an adventurous streak in him that would rival Harry’s own, because he followed anyways. “Why are we going out the back door, though?”

Harry led Louis to the fence that separated his yard and the next one. “Part of pool hopping is jumping the fence,” Harry explained.

He’d done it a few times over the years. Once, he’d even convinced Liam to come with him. Liam had apologized profusely and offered to clean the guy’s pool when he came out of find the two of them and a few other friends of Harry’s. Harry chuckled at the memory.

Climbing the fence with Louis proved to be a bit difficult, since neither of them had shoes on. Eventually they got over it, though, and then they were crossing the next yard and doing it again, and again, until they ended up in Harry’s father’s backyard.

“Does it count as pool hopping if it’s your own pool?” Louis questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Harry shrugged. “It does at three in the morning.”

Louis considered that for a moment. “Okay, fine, but now what?”

Harry grinned and, without warning, he tackled Louis into the pool. The two of them hit the water, a mess of tangled limbs and heavy clothing. Harry felt his shirt slide up, and his jeans weighed him down. Louis’ fingers gripped his hips, and Harry almost wanted to open his eyes, just to see what he looked like in that moment, under water, tangled up in Harry’s arms.

But then they surfaced, and the moment passed. Louis managed to roughly shove him away, his face a mixture of furious annoyance and untameable enjoyment. “You prick!” Louis shouted before Harry shushed him. “You prick,” he repeated, this time whispering. “Do you know how much this shirt costs? It’s supposed to be professionally cleaned in cold water, and--,”

“Louis?” Harry asked, letting his body float up on the water. He splayed his arms out around himself to keep his balance. “Shut up.”

 

* * *

 

**Louis**

He watched as Harry floated weightlessly on top of the water, torn between wanting to punch him and wanting to join him. In the end, he went with the latter, leaning back in the water, allowing his body to be held up. His shirt billowed out around him, and he felt weirdly heavy in the water with all his clothes on.

It was quiet, like that, as if they were the only two people who existed at that moment. Occasionally, they would float close to each other, and parts of their bodies would touch. Harry’s fingers would slide against Louis’ arm, Louis’ would almost tangle in Harry’s impossible hair. Then they’d quickly move away from each other, until they were brought back together, like magnets.

And then suddenly, all at once, it felt like too much. Like it meant something, and it shouldn’t. Louis righted himself and brushed his damp hair off his forehead. “You know, as much ‘fun’ as this is, it’s really not.”

Harry followed Louis’ movement, and for a moment a look of hurt crossed his face, but then he grinned that wild grin of his, the one that Louis figured was going to end up getting him in trouble one day, and he swam over to the side of the pool.

“You want fun?” Harry asked.

Louis raised an eyebrow, and then Harry let out a loud, deep shout. Louis flinched, and then Harry looked up at one of the windows of his house. The light flicked on in the room, and Harry pulled himself up out of the pool.

It was too dark in the backyard for Harry’s father to know it was him, but still. He leaned out the window and shouted, “I’m calling the cops!”

Louis gave Harry a wide-eyed, horrified look, and Harry held out his hand once more. Louis swam over to him and this time, he took it, allowing Harry to pull him out of the water. Then Harry leaned in, just because he didn’t want his dad to hear -- that’s what Louis told himself--, and whispered, “Run.”

It was the cool night air, mixing with the water that drenched every part of Louis’ body, that had him shivering as Harry’s hand squeezed his, and then they started running. They made it across the yard easily, and then Harry climbed to the top of the fence and helped Louis over it, before taking his hand again, tugging Louis along for the ride as they sprinted through the next two yards.

When they finally got to Louis’ backyard, they stopped, both boys bent over at the knees, panting hard. Harry straightened first, running a hand through his damp hair, eyes sparkling in the light filtering out through Louis’ back door.

“You’re insane,” Louis gasped out, still bent over. He shouldn’t be, he played football, for God’s sake, he wasn’t out of shape. But his clothes were heavy, and it was all so sudden. “Absolutely insane.”

“You wanted-- fun,” Harry got out, and Louis was proud that Harry seemed just as tired out as he felt. “That was fun.”

“I’m starting to think that we have a very different definition of that word,” Louis told him.

Harry grinned. “You had fun, admit it.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “I’m going inside, it’s freezing.”

Harry looked down at his soaking wet clothes, and then back up at Louis. “I’m just going to use the,” he jerked his head in the direction of the fence that led to Louis’ front yard. “The gate there, and go home.”

Louis nodded, swallowing down any protest that might crawl out of his mouth, because he shouldn’t want Harry to stay. It was extremely late, they were both drenched, and it was _Harry_. Louis didn’t even _like_ him.

“Goodnight, Harry,” Louis said, heading towards his house.

“Night, Lou,” Harry called back, and Louis paused, but Harry was already heading through the gate, then closing it behind himself and cutting across the lawns.

Zayn was the only person who called him that, and he wasn’t sure if he hated the nickname in Harry’s mouth, or loved it.

He went upstairs, first, and changed into drier clothing, and then headed back downstairs. He noticed Harry’s shoes at the front door, and realized that he must have forgotten that he’d left them there. Nothing he could do about it now, though, so he just went back into the kitchen.

He cleaned up the wrappers form the food Harry had brought over, shoving them into the trash while trying not to think about how good it had tasted, or how bad it was going to look on his hips for the next week.

Louis tried to get back into writing, but he found himself sitting there, holding the pen over the paper, mind drifting back to the thoughts of water slicked skin brushing against skin, of dripping wet clothes, and limp curls.

Eventually he gave up, put his writing away, and headed up to bed.

Nearly a week past and Harry didn’t come by to get his shoes. Louis also didn’t bother to go and bring them to him, either. If he needed them that badly, he’d come get them. On Thursday before school, though, Louis had run down stairs, late already, and slipped them on. He hadn’t had time to dig through his closet to find a pair that matched his outfit, and they were slightly too big, which made them easier to pull on then most of his usual shoes.

It wasn’t until he was at school, walking through the hall to his class, that he realized that he’d done it. And once he had, for some reason, it was all he could think about. He’d be sitting in class, idly doodling on the side of his page while trying to drone out his annoying teacher’s voice, and then his eyes would fall to his feet, under his desk, and he’d take in the shoes, and then he couldn’t stop focusing on them until something else came along to distract him for a few minutes.

They weren’t even special, really. They were just a pair of simple grey converse with laces that probably _used_ to be white, but had since faded and stained to a grey colour that nearly matched the rest of them. At the back of the soles, Harry had written his full name in permanent black marker, a messy scribe of _Harry Styles_ on each one.

At lunch he vowed to take a drive home, just to change out of them, but then El showed up at his locker, wrapped a hand around his forearm, and carted him off to the cafeteria.

He was halfway through his last class when Zayn texted him, asking for a ride after school. Louis said yes and then went back to writing. Normally, his last class was his favourite. His school had an amazing theatre group, and it was one of the only times when Louis could honestly say he enjoyed learning.

Except all his classmates, including himself, too, were working either on their own scripts, or on setting up for the December musical.

And Louis? He found himself going back a few pages and editing the dialogue, until he reread the last passage he’d fixed, and realized that he’d had his main character taking pulling a beautiful girl along the streets with him, all the while whispering the word “Run” directly in her ear.

“Shit,” Louis muttered, completely scratching out the entire paragraph. No, this wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. He was not going to develop some weird infatuation with this annoyingly pretentious boy with the stupid curls. He was _not_.

The second he pulled up in front of Zayn’s building, he pushed open Zayn’s door and said, “Roll us a joint, yeah?”

Zayn slid into the seat beside him, eyebrows raised. “Feeling a little tense, Tommo?”

Louis rolled his eyes and started driving, while Zayn pulled a bit of weed out of his pencil case hiding place. He sighed. “You have no idea.”

Zayn was an expert at rolling joints, even in a moving vehicle, and about a minute later, he had the joint pressed between his lips and rolled down his window while he lit it up. Louis tired to pay attention to the road as the tiny car filled with the smell of it, and then he was extending his hand, waiting for Zayn to pass it on.

He didn’t smoke often, mostly because weed tended to bring him down too much. Some people, like Zayn, occasionally, tended to get giggly and carefree when they smoked. Louis, on the other hand, was the droopy eyed, lazy type of high. There had been endless times where the two of them would smoke a joint or two in Louis’ basement, and then Zayn would laugh while watching something on the telly and stuff his face with Louis’ food, and Louis would stare at the ceiling and listen to the sounds around him.

He took a short puff off the joint and held the smoke in for a beat too long. He let it out and coughed, while Zayn sniggered and reached for the radio dial.

“Wait,” Zayn said suddenly, finger tapping the car’s clock insistently. “It’s Thursday, right?”

“Yes, it is,” Louis agreed while breathing out the smoke of another drag. “Good job, Zaynie, you learned the days of the week.”

Zayn’s eyes narrowed, but then he shook his head. “We’re missing Liam’s game. You’ve got to drive over to Verton.”

Louis frowned and took a sharp left before pulling his eyes from the road, just long enough to look at his best mate. “Why are we going to his game?”

Zayn smirked and leaned back in his seat, easily plucking the joint from Louis’ fingers. “Because,” Zayn said, taking a hall. He spoke the next words with the smoke still in his mouth, so his voice went higher pitched with the lack of breath. “I distract him, and he told me not to be there.”

Louis tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove in the direction of the school. Liam and Harry were best friends, which meant that it wouldn’t be uncommon for Harry to be at the game, right? Not that Louis wanted him to be. Not that Louis had any plans in staying an watching a bunch of sweaty guys toss a ball back and forth. Or, actually, just back, since it was rugby. He watched his own school’s team play, because that’s what you did; you supported your own team. But he wasn’t friends with Liam, nor did he attend Liam’s school. He had no reason to stay, and therefore he vowed to just drop Zayn off.

But then he questioned why Zayn wanted to go, anyways. Zayn had the attention span of a goldfish when it game to romantic interest. It was even worse when the person didn’t return the feelings -- not that that was something that occurred a lot, but still-- because Zayn didn’t chase after anyone, really. Sometimes, when he deemed a person worthy, he would put in a bit of effort. If that still didn’t work, he’d shrug it off and move on.

He was going to ask Zayn why this was any different, why he’d even bother with Liam, but instead the words that came out of his mouth were, “Do you think Harry will be there?”

Zayn shrugged and threw the end of the joint out the window. Louis realized that it was already kicking in for him, as his body seemed to meld better into the seat, and the cool air drifting in the open window soothed his warm skin.

“He was there last time,” Zayn admitted. “Why?”

Louis shrugged. “I don’t like him very much. And I still don’t get what you’re playing at with this whole Liam thing.”

Zayn made a face at him. “What do you mean?”

Louis shrugged once more; it was a bad habit, shrugging when he was high. He did it a lot.

They pulled up to Venton, and Louis parked his car across the street. They could see the field from the car, and the team was already out, playing the game, and the bleachers were already filled with people. Louis found himself searching them, trying to see far off, and he thought his eyes caught a head of curly hair, and he sighed, turning the car off all the way.

“I just mean,” Louis said while undoing his seatbelt, “that you never put in effort, because, like you’ve told me a million times, there’s no point in putting in effort for a one time lay. Right? So why are you changing that rule for Liam?”

Zayn undid his own belt and opened his door. “Because,” he said, sliding out of the car. “I want to see how innocent that face looks while I’m fucking him into oblivion. Let’s go.” He shut the car door and then slapped the hood of the car once, and Louis rolled his eyes before following him.

“Is this going to become a thing?” Louis demanded to know while he jogged after Zayn, who was heading to the opening of the fence that allowed them to get into the field. “You stalking this poor boy’s games?”

“Shut up, Louis,” Zayn tossed over his shoulder. “Or I’ll ask you why you’re wearing shoes with the name _Harry Styles_ written on the back of them.”

Louis looked down at his feet, and then to the bleachers, where he could clearly see both Harry and Niall sitting. He was going to avoid them at all cost, because he really didn’t want to have to explain the shoes to Harry.

But then Niall spotted them and waved them over, and Zayn shrugged before heading in their direction. There were two empty seats on the bleachers below where Harry and Niall were sitting, and Louis and Zayn took them.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, leaning down. Louis stared straight ahead, trying to pay attention to the game.

“You going to ask me that every time?” Zayn questioned, pulling his lighter out of his pocket. Louis knew he wasn’t allowed to smoke on school property, and Zayn must have known that too, because he settled with just turning the lighter over and over his in fingers.

“Are you going to be here every time?” Niall asked. “Or are you going to get bored of him after you’re done, like with the others?”

Both Louis and Zayn looked up at him at that, Zayn with a bored expression on his face, Louis with barely contained hostility. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis demanded. He liked Niall, he did, but he liked Zayn a hell of a lot more.

“You know what I mean,” Niall said, not looking intimidated. “And you don’t want to play that kind of game with Liam,” he added, this time to Zayn.

Zayn shrugged and turned back around. “Who says I’m playing a game?”

“No one,” Harry said before things could escalate. “Because we like you, but we’re also pretty protective when it comes to Liam.”

Niall made a sound of agreement, and Louis rolled his eyes. He couldn’t deny that they had a point, though. He knew Zayn, and he knew that Zayn would inevitably hook up with Liam, and then probably never talk to him again, and Niall and Harry would be the ones to pick up the pieces.

But Louis found Liam on the field, playing extremely well, much better than the other lads, and he couldn’t help but think that Liam looked like he could handle himself just fine.

He got so caught up in the game that he didn’t notice Harry leaning down, close enough that his curls brushed over the shoulder of Louis’ jacket, until he whispered, “Nice shoes.”

Louis jolted, and nearly fell face first off the bleachers.

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

He really wished people would stop asking him why he was at Liam’s games, mostly because he didn’t really know himself. He figured it was just because there was something about Liam that Zayn really wanted to corrupt. That sweet face, and those innocent eyes. The ones that contrasted so much with his physicality, because Liam was all wide shoulders and huge hands.

Zayn just really, really wanted to shag him. That was it. And if he enjoyed Liam’s games, because Liam spent as much time looking at Zayn as he spent avoiding looking at Zayn, well, that was no ones business but his own.

The more he watched Liam, though, the more he itched for a cigarette. That was why he spent the last game leaning against the fence, because there, he could light up, one after another. He wasn’t sure what the hell Liam did that made him chain smoke. It probably had something to do with the fact that Liam made him think a lot more than he’d care to, and so he smoked non-stop to distract himself.

When the game ended, Liam’s team winning by a huge margin, Liam jogged over to the player’s bench and pulled out a water bottle. Zayn watched him unscrew the cap and down half of it in one go, all the while Liam’s eyes were on him. Zayn wanted nothing more than to go down there and press him into the bench while his lips explored every inch of Liam’s body. Sweat wasn’t a kink he used to have, he knew, but apparently it was a new development.

Zayn ignored Harry and Niall who, honestly, had every right to warn Zayn away from their friend, as he hoped off the bleachers. It wasn’t that Zayn _enjoyed_ fucking people over. He just enjoyed fucking people. And fucking them over tended to happen after that.

“Hey,” Zayn said, moving closer to Liam. He was distinctly aware of the man who had stalked over to Liam’s coach and began having an intense argument with him. He had the same nose as Liam, the same wide shoulders.

“Hi,” Liam said quietly. “You’re here.”

Zayn smirked at the surprise in Liam’s tone. “I might like distracting you, just a bit.”

Liam sighed at that and screwed the cap back on his bottle. “I don’t think my dad appreciates that,” he admitted, eyes flitting to his father and his coach. “But I don’t… I don’t mind. I think.”

Zayn grinned fully at that, and he noticed Harry and Niall, Louis tagging along behind them, approaching. At the last second he grabbed Liam’s arm and turned him away from them, whispering, “You want to get out of here?” in his ear. The second the other boys showed up, he was sure they’d find a way to invite themselves along, or to stop Zayn from running off alone with Liam.

He was annoyed at that, but then he also wasn’t. He kind of liked Harry, and he didn’t mind Niall, either.

“Um,” Liam hesitated. “If I say yes, we’re going to have to go, like, right now. Before my dad gets over here.”

Zayn reached down and grabbed Liam’s bag, the one he’d taken the water bottle from, and pulled it over his shoulder. “Then let’s go.”

Zayn walked a bit ahead of Liam as they left the field, and he knew that Liam was still a little doubtful about running off with Zayn without any knowledge of where they were going to go, or what they were going to do. But he followed anyways, and that made Zayn want to kiss him, hard.

When they got on the other side of the fence, he could see Louis already heading towards them, an annoyed look on his face. Zayn picked up the pace, knowing that he was going to get a good chewing out from his best friend later on for first dragging him to Liam’s game, and then abandoning him there, too.

Liam jogged a bit to catch up with him, and he pushed a few strands of his hair off his face. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or am I just supposed to follow you with blind faith?”

“The second one,” Zayn answered as he pulled out a cigarette. “Is that going to bother you?”

Liam sighed. “It should, but not really, no.”

“You got bus money?” Zayn asked, trying not to grin widely at Liam’s words as he lit his cigarette.

“In my bag, maybe?” Liam answered.

Zayn shrugged. “Never mind, babe, I’ll cover you.”

Liam’s cheeks coloured a bit at that, and Zayn pulled a deep hall on his cigarette, because there were a lot of things he found himself liking about Liam, but that was his favourite. Almost as if on cue, Zayn would call Liam babe, and Liam’s cheeks would turn a delicious shade of pink. Zayn wondered if his cheeks would colour like that when Zayn wrapped his lips around Liam’s cock; he hoped so.

He led Liam to the nearest bus stop, and then paid for both of them before heading to his usual spot at the back. Liam hesitated on the seat beside Liam, and Zayn caught him looking at the writing he’d done there the other day. Liam’s lips were quirked up in a grin.

“What?” Zayn questioned as Liam sat down.

Liam shook his head. “Nothing.”

They spent most of the bus ride in silence. Liam’s leg jiggled restlessly beside Zayn’s, and Zayn resolutely stared out the window, waiting for him to say something, because up until this point, Zayn had initiated everything. It was Liam’s turn to do a bit of work.

Apparently, though, Liam was content to just sit there beside Zayn while they rode the bus. Every time Zayn peaked a look at him, he was smiling faintly to himself, or politely at anyone who chose to look at them. He was such the opposite of Zayn, who normally met the eyes of strangers with a glare on his face.

“This is our stop,” Zayn announced.

Liam looked out the window, and if he had any qualms about the fact that Zayn had brought him to what was considered the bad part of town, he didn’t show it.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” Liam asked after they’d hopped off the bus.

“We’re there,” Zayn told him, heading towards the front walk of his building.

“Oh.”

They were quiet once more as they headed up the stairs, and he started to wonder if this was a bad idea. Liam might not be like Louis’ stuck up friends, but when Zayn opened the doors to his apartment, and Liam walked in, he couldn’t help but feel that Liam did not belong there. Liam was like a beacon of _good,_ and Zayn’s life definitely wasn’t.

He’d cleaned the place up a bit the other day, so it wasn’t a mess, for once, and there were actually groceries in the fridge. He mentally patted himself on the back for being so well prepared for Liam’s impromptu visit.

“You live here?” Liam asked, looking around a bit.

Zayn shrugged and put Liam’s bag on the floor before gesturing him over to the couch.

Liam frowned as he sat down. “Alone?” he questioned.

Zayn nodded, already heading towards the kitchen. “You want a drink?”

“Sure,” Liam agreed.

Zayn smirked and asked, “Vodka or rum?”

“What about your parents?” Liam asked, ignoring the question.

Zayn froze, still facing the fridge. “I don’t live with them,” he said quietly. That was _not_ what he wanted to talk about with Liam. Not that he really wanted to do much talking. “Anyways, Pepsi fine?”

“That’s fine,” Liam agreed.

Zayn returned to the living room, two cans of Pepsi in his hand. He passed one to Liam and then sunk down onto the couch beside him, closer than they needed to be, since it was only the two of them and the couch was big enough to seat three or four.

“Want to watch a movie?” Zayn questioned.

“Okay,” Liam agreed, and Zayn wondered if there was anything he could ask that Liam wouldn’t agree to. That wasn’t exactly smart of him, because, really, he didn’t know Zayn all that well. Then again, if he did, he definitely wouldn’t agree to _anything_ Zayn asked.

Zayn stood up and put in _Die Hard_ , because he liked it and it was the first thing his hand touched. He sat back beside Liam again, and Liam fidgeted. He wasn’t sure if that was just something Liam always did, or if it was because Zayn made him nervous. He hoped it was the second one.

Zayn leaned forward to pull the coffee table closer to himself, and then reached under the couch for his personal stash of weed and rolling papers. “Do you mind?” he asked.

Liam pulled his eyes from the TV. “No.”

His fingers expertly busted up the weed (he had a grinder, but it was too much effort to pull it out) and then he added a bit of tobacco and rolled the joint. The entire time he felt Liam’s eyes on him, watching his every move with interest. When he brought the finished joint to his lips, Liam’s eyes followed, too.

“Have you ever smoked before, Liam?” Zayn asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he admitted.

Zayn may have gaped at him. “Not once?”

Liam shrugged. “’s not really my thing.”

Zayn looked down at the joint, and then the slight interest in Liam’s wide brown eyes. “Do you want to?”

Liam hesitated. “I-- I don’t know. I’m not really sure how.”

Zayn grinned. “Good thing you’re with an expert, then.”

He lit the end of the joint and breathed in long and slow before releasing the smoke. The movie played in the background, but neither of them were paying attention.

“Right,” Zayn said, holding the joint away from himself. “The first time, don’t breath in too much. You’ll choke. Seriously, a lot of people don’t listen to that, and they get way ahead of themselves. Just go easy on it.”

Liam gingerly took the joint from Zayn’s hand and brought it to his lips hesitantly. Zayn watched with interest as those pink lips hugged the joint, and then Liam breathed in just a bit and held the joint away from himself. No matter what cautions Zayn gave, Liam still coughed fiercely, and Zayn just pressed Liam’s can of Pepsi into his hand. Liam took a huge sip and then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

Zayn took the joint from his fingers and then took another hit off it before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “No more of that,” he murmured, frowning at his own actions.

He’d thought it would be fun, corrupting Liam a little bit, but it wasn’t. He didn’t like the way Liam looked with a cloud of smoke drifting from his lips, or the joint held between two of his fingers. Not when he was still wearing his rugby uniform. Not when he looked at Zayn with trustful eyes and a little bit of expectancy, like he wanted Zayn to be proud of him for it.

“I’m bad at it,” Liam guessed, his shoulders had drooped more than they had been when Zayn had looked away from him.

“No,” Zayn said quickly. “It’s not that, it’s--,” he scratched the back of hi neck. “I guess I just didn’t like seeing you smoking.”

“You didn’t like seeing me smoke,” Liam repeated, confusion in his voice. “Why?”

He looked into Liam’s eyes once more, and again he found his brain working on over time, analysing everything. He itched to reach for a cigarette, just to distract himself, but then he had a better idea. He leaned forward, and Liam didn’t move. Finally, Zayn did the one thing that he knew would silence the insistent voice in the back of his head that tried to make this into something more than it was, something more than he wanted it, or anything, to be.

He kissed Liam a lot more gentle than he’d meant to. His lips brushed faintly over the other boys, flesh ghosting over flesh, and reached up a hand to cup Liam’s cheek. Liam made a surprised sort of noise, but he didn’t pull away. In fact, he moved closer, chasing Zayn’s lips when Zayn moved to lean back to make sure Liam was okay with this.

And then he threw all caution to the wind. His one hand reached up, moving from Liam’s cheek to tangle in his hair, while the other found Liam’s arm, curling around the thick bicep to hold himself a bit above the other boy.

Liam kissed with hesitancy, while Zayn kissed with confidence and demand, his lips parting, tongue pressing against Liam’s. Liam’s mouth opened a bit, and Zayn took advantage of that to deepen the kiss. It tasted of smoke and the sweetness of Pepsi, and Liam’s hand wrapped around Zayn’s back, trying to press them closer together.

He hadn’t smoked much of that joint, but he felt like he had. Everything was a slow simmer, from the way Liam’s hand pushed at his leather jacket -- he hadn’t bothered taking it off because the heat in his apartment only worked sometimes-- to the way their tongues moved together. His body felt light, and Liam was warm everywhere Zayn touched him.

He could tell that Liam didn’t have much experience. Zayn guided most of their actions, having no doubt about who was dominating the kiss. And yet Zayn found himself enjoying it more than he wished he did, liked knowing that he was the one teaching Liam these things, that someone else hadn’t already beat him to it.

Liam’s hands finally managed to pull Zayn’s jacket down, and Zayn broke the kiss long enough to tug it the rest of the way off, letting it fall to the ground in abandon. He moved to kiss Liam again, but Liam pulled his head back, his hand skating up Zayn’s arm.

“I’ve never seen you without the jacket,” he said, and there was something too close to awe in his voice for Zayn’s liking. He didn’t want Liam to look at him like something to savour and hold dear; he wanted Liam’s body pressed urgently against his, nothing more than _want_ coursing through the two of them, instead of something else. “You have a lot of tattoos.”

Zayn surged forward and kissed him again, muttering, “I have more,” against Liam’s lips.

Again, Liam pulled back. “Can you show me?”

Zayn nodded and then moved forward so that he was straddling Liam’s hips. He felt a little unbalanced doing that on the couch, especially because Liam was sitting so close to the arm rest that there wasn’t much room for his leg. Liam seemed to get that, and he shifted over a bit, hands on Zayn’s waist to keep him from falling.

When he was more comfortable, Zayn reached for the hem of his shirt and dragged it upwards. To be honest, he hadn’t expected things with Liam to go _this_ quickly. Sure, with most people he brought home, they’d already be naked, but this was _Liam_ , hesitant, innocent Liam, and Zayn thought it would have taken more urging on his part to get them where they already were now.

Liam’s fingers gently traced the outline of each of his visible tattoos, starting with the ones higher up, ending with the one on his hip. “Did they hurt?” Liam wondered, letting his hands rest, once again, on Zayn’s hips.

Zayn grinned. “If I said yes, would you kiss them better?”

Liam’s fingers dug into his sides a bit, the perfect amount of pain to offset the too tender touches. He tilted his head up, eyes closed, and Zayn took that to mean that he wanted another kiss. He obliged easily, pushing Liam back harder against the couch, pressing them together, chest to chest, groin to groin, lips to lips.

When Zayn rolled his hips a bit, Liam let out the most perfect groan, the sound nearly smothered by the kiss. “I-- I didn’t realize,” Liam said against Zayn’s lips. Zayn’s fingers curled around the bottom of Liam’s rugby jersey, wanting to see if all that playing paid off in the ways he thought it might. “I didn’t know that you-- that you liked me.”

Zayn pulled back at that, eyebrows drawn together. “What?”

Liam was blushing something fierce again. “I didn’t know you liked me,” he repeated. “I thought that-- I don’t know. I just didn’t know.”

Zayn made a strangled sort of sound at that, and moved off Liam’s lap. Liam looked wounded for a second, like he thought he’d said something wrong, so Zayn grabbed the front of his shirt and roughly pulled him closer, once again being the leader, laying down flat on the couch and urging Liam to get on top of him.

“Shit, Liam,” Zayn groaned when the other boy did as Zayn wanted. The thin material of his uniform did little to hide the fact that Liam was very, very into what they were doing. “I thought it was obvious.”

Liam shook his head, hair bouncing with the movement. His thighs were tight around Zayn’s, the strength of them holding Liam up above him. He was a warm, pleasant weight on top of Zayn’s body, and Zayn’s mind couldn’t help but question how fucking good it would be if Liam were the one leading this, if he was the one pressing into Zayn, showing him exactly what he wanted and how to do it.

“It’s just,” Liam’s thumb drew circles on Zayn’s skin. “You’re kind of beautiful, and, you know, you’ve got this whole mysterious thing going for you,” he chuckled a bit at that. “You just burn really bright, Zayn. And I don’t.”

Zayn blinked up at him, his hands -- attempting to push up Liam’s shirt while he spoke-- froze in their motions. He felt his lips part, and Liam looked down at him with this kind of unbelievably happy look on his face, like Zayn was some wonderful prize that he didn’t think he’d ever be allowed to have.

That made something bubble up in Zayn, something he wished hadn’t. He wanted to tell Liam that no one had the right to look at him like that, least of all him. He wanted to explain to Liam all the reasons why what they were doing was _wrong_ , because it was. Zayn was like black paint, and Liam was a glowing yellow. Even the smallest contact would mute Liam’s colour, but no amount of brightness from him could change the darkness of Zayn.

Zayn sat up then and Liam fell back, losing his balance, hands grabbing out behind himself to keep him from falling against the cushions of the couch. “You should go,” Zayn said slowly.

Liam gave him a confused look, like his words weren’t clear enough.

“You should go,” Zayn repeated.

Liam shook his head. “I don’t--,”

“Liam,” Zayn got off the couch, fingers fumbling for a cigarette. “Please,” he added. He put the cigarette between his lips and flicked the lighter once, twice, three times and then threw it to the ground, annoyed.

Liam scrambled off the couch, and even through the thick fog of confusion on his face, Zayn could see the hurt that lingered in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” Liam said quietly, backing away from Zayn. He stopped at the front door and bent to pick up the bag. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

“Just go,” Zayn told him.

Liam nodded mutely and let himself out, the door shutting quietly behind himself. Zayn sunk back onto the couch and closed his eyes, his breathing heavy. A moment later he fell to the ground on his hands and knees, fingers searching for the lighter. He needed a cigarette.

 

* * *

 

**Niall**

He stayed with Harry for a week before returning home. He only did so after calling his mother, and then it was only to pick up some clothes and a few things that he needed. When he walked into his home, for once, it didn’t feel like one anymore. Not his, at least.

His dad wasn’t home; they’d scheduled his visit around his father’s schedule to ensure that fact, so he could get in and out without any problems.

His mum wrapped her arms around him first thing and pressed a kiss to his forehead. A small part of him wished he could hate her, too, but he didn’t. He endure the affection, and then pulled back.

“I’ve got to get my stuff,” he said quietly.

She nodded. “I think it’s best if you didn’t stay here for a bit,” his mother admitted, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “I love you, baby.”

“Love you, too,” he said automatically, before heading upstairs.

He grabbed his duffel bag from the top shelf of his closet, and then filled with the clothes from his dresser and floor. He didn’t really bring much else, except the small stash of cash he kept in his pillow case. Then he headed back downstairs, said a goodbye to his mum, and grabbed his shoes, too, because the ones he was borrowing off Harry were a bit too big.

Harry was waiting outside in the car, music playing loud enough that Niall could hear it, even with his windows all the way up. When he slid into the passenger seat, Harry looked up and turned down the music. “Everything okay?” he questioned.

Niall shrugged and put his stuff in the back. “Yeah, I think it is.”

And it was the truth. He stayed with Harry and his dad well into November. Personally, though he didn’t bring it up with Harry, Niall really liked John. He knew that there was something there that made Harry dislike his father, but he’d yet to see it.

John opened his door for Niall without much questioned. Of course, eventually he had started asking why it was that Niall never went home, and Harry and Niall had admitted just enough to him to keep him from asking more questions, or throwing Niall out.

Niall had taken over their guest bedroom without any complaints from him. Harry didn’t even ask-- he juts moved Niall’s things in there, and then never brought it up with anyone, even Niall. And he was grateful to both of them for it.

It was just really odd, for him, to have someone know something like that about himself. He’d never shared what his home life was like with anyone, and no one had cared enough to figure it out for themselves. But then Harry came along, Liam in tow, and had somehow worked out Niall’s biggest secret within a matter of weeks. And he was still there after that.

“You going to be okay on your own for the day?” Harry questioned, leaning against Niall’s doorframe, toothbrush in hand.

Niall shrugged. “O’ course. I think I’m going to spend most of the day downtown,” he added.

Harry nodded. He was spending most of the day at his mum’s house. His sister, who Niall really hadn’t learnt anything about, was coming back from Uni for the weekend, and his mum wanted them all to have dinner.

Niall was happy to have the day to himself, actually, because he had plans. He wanted to get downtown and do a bit of job hunting. He didn’t want to be a burden on Harry and John, and he’d feel a lot better if he could support himself.

Plus, he couldn’t live with Harry’s family forever, but he also couldn’t see himself going back home, either. What he needed, he knew, was a job, and enough money to get a place of his own. He’d always vowed that once he left his parents, he wasn’t going back, and he was going to stick with that, if he could.

Of course, he’d have to go by and see his mum a few times, to get her to sign his paperwork for his community service. He didn’t even mind the park cleaning anymore, not when he and Harry would take too long breaks, ogling the girls who jogged around the park, or eating greasy chips from the truck just down the road.

“You want me to drop you off?” Harry asked.

Niall shook his head. “I’ll just take the bus.”

“Okay,” he shrugged and then went back to brushing his teeth.

Harry left a little while later, while Niall was still styling his hair. He wanted to make a good impression on anyone he met with today.

When he got downstairs, about to pull on his shoes, John intercepted him. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asked.

Niall was struck again by how different Harry and his father were. Sure, they looked similar. The shape of the eyes and the nose, the height. But John had thicker shoulders, and his hair was styled into a more business-like look. And though he and Harry had the same low, almost rough voice, John’s was more calming and firm, while Harry’s was always laced with mischief.

Niall followed him into the kitchen. John busied himself with making tea, and Niall sat down at the table. “What do you take?” John asked.

“Um, I’m okay,” Niall said quickly.

John nodded and made himself a tea before sliding into the seat across from Niall. “I know I don’t know you very well,” John started, and Niall shifted in his seat, “but despite what Harry might say about me, I’m not a bad person. And I know there’s a bit more going on here then you boys are telling me. And I also want _you_ to know that you’re always welcome here, if you’re not safe at home. But I’m going to need you guys to give me a bit more than that. For all I know, I’m harbouring a runaway.”

“I didn’t run away,” Niall said quickly.

John nodded. “I didn’t really think you did, but I had to ask,” he grinned. “You know, parental necessity. But then, Niall, and please, bear in mind that I’m not trying to push, but, can I ask you why, exactly, you’ve taken up residence in my guest bedroom?”

Niall swallowed and he wished that he’d of taken that tea right about then. “Um,” Niall looked down at his hands. It was one thing to tell Harry and Liam. They were teenagers, there wasn’t anything they could really do about it. But telling Harry’s dad could get his parents in a lot of trouble, if he chose to take any action on what Niall said next. “If I tell you, you’re not going, to, like--,”

“What you say right now stays between the two of us,” John assured him. “And I’m not going to kick you out, not if you really need a place to stay.”

Niall nodded, and then suddenly he found himself saying a lot more than he meant to. More than he’d told Harry or Liam. More than he’d really said to anyone, about any of it. More than he even really thought about, because he tended not to think about those things, because they hurt a lot.

He told John about the first time his dad hit him, and how he’d been shocked but thought it was normal. Parents spanked their kids, that wasn’t something he hadn’t heard of before. But then it wasn’t just spanking, it was punching, and leaving bruises and cuts. He talked about how he never told anyone, because he wasn’t sure if it was really that big of a deal, because everyone in his house hold acted like it really wasn’t. He admitted to the fact that his mum never intervened, and also about the fact that he was glad that she didn’t, because there wasn’t any point in them both getting hurt. He talked about how, if it weren’t for Harry and Liam, he would still be back at that place, and would probably never find a way to leave it, because before them, there just wasn’t any other option.

When he was done, John was staring down at his hands, quietly thinking through everything Niall said. And Niall felt like an idiot, opening up like that. Making a big deal out of something that really wasn’t.

Finally, John looked up at him. “I’m sorry that you went through that,” John said quietly. “And so you know, Niall, my door is always open, okay? Always.”

Niall nodded, and John stood up. “Now come on, Harry told me you were heading downtown. I’ll drop you off. I’ve got to stop somewhere, anyways. That guest bedroom’s comforter scratches something awful.”

Niall couldn’t hold back the grin on his face. “It really does.”

John gave him a conspiratorial look. “It was a present from Yvette. I hate that thing, that’s why I put it in the guest bedroom.”

Driving in the car with John was different than driving with Harry, mostly because he was a slow, cautious driver, and because there was no music playing, not even softly in the background. Niall was so used to that from Harry that he itched to turn it on, but he didn’t want to cross and boundaries, so his hands stayed at his sides.

Niall got dropped off closer to the coffee shop he’d met Maria at all those days ago. John left him with one last, “You need anything, you let me know, kiddo.”

The thing was, he didn’t, really. Need anything, that is. He felt _good_ , for once. Not like there was a bowling ball hanging over his head, just waiting to fall. And, with that heavy weight lifted, Niall went out to do what he’d set out to, with a grin on his face and his shoulders not slumped at all.

He knew he didn’t have a lot of experience, and his only real options for a job were the fast food places, but Niall really didn’t mind. The first two places he went to, they’d loved him. He spoke with the managers, filled out an application, and answered a few questions. He even put in an application at McDonalds, knowing that it was the place he was most likely to get a call back from.

Once he was done with that, he headed over to the coffee shop, in desperate need of something warm and caffeinated.

The second he pushed open the door to the packed coffee shop, he knocked into a solid body, and then warmth scalded his feet, and a female voice let out a high pitched, “Shit!” and then a, “I mean crap, sorry. Damn it. Are you okay?”

Niall looked up into a pair of wide, dark eyes of a colour that he couldn’t place; green or hazel, definitely. “I spilt your drink,” Niall said automatically. The heat in his shoes was gone now, but there was a puddle on the floor, and the girl was holding a now crushed cardboard coffee cup. She looked so sincerely sorry, and, Niall couldn’t lie, she was pretty, in a soft, not overwhelming kind of way. “Let me buy you a new one,” he found himself saying.

The girl tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear, revealing a thin streak of pink hidden underneath it. “No, it’s fine. It was an accident. You don’t owe me.”

Niall ignored her protest and stepped into line. “What were you drinking?” he asked over his shoulder.

The girl bit her lip, and Niall noticed that she was trying to hold back a smile. “A caramel mocha.”

When it came his turn to order, he got himself a large coffee, three cream three sugar, the girls drink, and then a chocolate chip cookie, just because he felt like it. When he handed the girl her drink, the two of them stepped out of the way of the other costumers.

“You didn’t have to, you know,” she said.

Niall grinned. “Well, if I didn’t have to, you could always sit with me to make up for it.”

The girl cocked her head to the side, muttering a quiet “Cheeky,” before frowning. “I really shouldn’t,” she said slowly. “I’m supposed to be spending the day with my family, but…,” she trailed off, and then headed towards a booth. She sat down and then look expectantly up at Niall, who followed her and sat down on the other side of the booth.

And just like that, they were chatting and drinking their coffee. Niall broke his cookie in half while she talked about her schooling -- she was at Uni, studying Psychology-- and her life, while Niall told her that he was always torn between wanting to open a catering business, and taking a sound engineering class.

The conversation just flowed easily, from what their life plans were -- if they had any-- to what type of music they liked, or what the last movie they’d seen was. Niall liked her, liked that everything didn’t feel put on or fake. She laughed when something was funny, or called him out when he’d said he liked Lady Gaga, too, with a, “Liar! You’re just saying that to make me like you,” and he’d admitted to it, because it was true.

And then he realized that he didn’t even know her name. “I’m Niall, by the way,” he said, extending his hand in a formal way, like they hadn’t just spent the better half of an hour telling each other all about themselves.

“Nice to meet you, Niall,” she said, taking his hand. “My name’s Gemma.”

The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t figure out why, exactly. Gemma looked down at her phone, and then admitted that she needed to be home for dinner. “I should give you my number, though,” she said slowly. “If you want it.”

Niall raised his eyebrows. “Eh, no thanks. I’m not really interested,” he told her, and she balled up a napkin and threw it at him while he pulled out his phone and rattled off his own digits. “How about you call me, in case you change your mind.”

Gemma gave him a long look, and then said, “I don’t think I will change my mind.”

He wasn’t really sure how the next part happened. One minute they were heading out the door, and the next minute Gemma was leaning against a faded, old red car, and Niall’s tongue was exploring her mouth, while her hands tangled in his hair.

“I’ve really got to go,” she said into his mouth, while Niall let his lips move from hers, down to her neck. “My mum’s going to kill me.”

Niall pulled back, noticing that a few people glared at them for making-out against a car, in the middle of a busy sidewalk, but he didn’t really care. “When’re you in town next?” Niall asked, his hands still on her hips.

“Christmas hols,” she answered.

“Do you want to meet up again?” he asked her.

Gemma grinned and brushed a bit of hair off her face, once again revealing the hidden streaks in her hair. Niall reached up and tugged on one. “You just had your tongue in my mouth,” she said, laughing. “I think it’s safe to say that I wouldn’t mind getting together again.”

“Good,” Niall said, kissing her once more, chastely this time. “Call me. Or text me. Or whatever. Not just to set up a time.”

She nodded, and he walked away before turning quickly and calling a, “Goodbye, Gemma.” He didn’t miss the wide grin on her face, or blush in her cheeks, as she got back into her car.

He took the bus back to Harry’s place, and somehow the grin stayed on his face the whole way. When he got to his room, the old, scratchy blanket was gone, replaced by a new, bright red one. One that matched Niall’s shoes, and track pants, and snapback.

He had dinner with just Harry’s dad, the two of them eating out of cartons on the couch. Yvette was out for the night, and Harry still wasn’t back from his mum’s.

When Harry did get home, he flopped onto the couch between the two of them. Niall had never seen Harry get that close to his father before, but he must have had a good day at his mum’s, because he was all grins and restless energy.

“Have fun with your sister?” his father asked.

Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes. “’Course. Except she was late for dinner by, like, an hour. She went out to get coffee and when she came back she just kept looking at her phone and smiling to herself. Mum wanted to hit her with the frying pan.”

“Well,” his dad said, looking amused by this. “Next time you talk to Gemma, tell her to give me a call.”

Both Harry and Niall froze, for very different reasons. “I’ll do that,” Harry said in a quiet, reserved tone, before getting off the couch. Niall followed him.

“Gemma,” Niall repeated.

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. “It’s like, he can’t talk to her himself? I have the be the middle man now? He’s really that ball-less that he can’t even talk to his own daughter--,”

Niall didn’t hear the rest of his words as they climbed the stairs, because his mind was too busy putting the pieces together. And when he did, he slapped himself on the head. Gemma was Harry’s s _ister_. He _knew_ those eyes had looked a bit familiar, but… _shit_. He’d hit on, and then made-out with, Harry’s freaking sister.

Somehow, his perfect day wasn’t looking perfect anymore, because that? That was not going to turn out well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter (it's one of my favorites, for a couple reasons ;). Thanks to everyone who left a review, seriously, they make me so happy! It's always nice to know when someone enjoys a piece of your writing. <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Louis**

So close to the holidays, Louis didn’t throw as many parties. Mainly because he threw one spectacular rager the Friday before his birthday, one that everyone who was anyone attended. His parents would leave him a big sum of money to blow on whatever he wanted, on top of the gift that he’d receive on his actual birthday, and leave him home for the rest of the weekend.

This year, Louis didn’t set anything else up before that weekend, mainly because all of his free time was spent on finishing his play. He slaved over the thing, to the point where Eleanor had even called him a bore, which was something Louis Tomlinson wasn’t very accustomed to being called.

He didn’t even mind, though, because, for once, he was doing something that really meant something to him. Sure, he played football, and that was important. And sure, he had a thriving social life. But this was different than that. This was something he wanted. _Needed_. And it had to be perfect.

Even his mum commented on his hermit-like behaviour in the last few weeks, and his dad questioned where Eleanor had been. But Louis ignored them and worked until it was as perfect as he could get it. Except he was nervous.

The thing was, Louis wasn’t used to trying hard. Things came easily to him. He had money, looks, friends, a girlfriend. He drove a nice car, wore the best clothes, got invited to the best parties. But this wasn’t something that he could just breeze through. It took work, and effort, and, to be honest, he was nervous about it.

Two days before the play was supposed to be submitted to his teacher, he finished it. Well, finished it as well as he could. He couldn’t go over every minor detail for the tenth time. There was nothing he could fix, nothing he could do to make it better.

He wanted someone else’s opinion before he handed it in, though. He considered handing it off to Eleanor, but he wasn’t sure he trusted her with it. Trusted her not to judge it, or laugh at it. And then he considered Zayn, but Zayn had been in such a foul mood lately that he didn’t think Zayn would be willing to take the effort.

He didn’t really know how the hell he ended up on Harry’s front doorstep. Or maybe he did, because, really, he was the only option.

They hadn’t really talked much since that night in the pool, but that was mostly Louis’ fault. He avoided Harry like the plague that he was. And yet, no matter how much he avoided him, it didn’t keep him from seeing bright green eyes when he closed his own every night. That? That drove him mad. Harry had no right to worm his way under Louis’ skin like that. In a way that, for some reason, Eleanor had never managed.

When Harry’s door opened, he stood there, curly hair an even bigger mess than usual, eyes droopy and red, like he’d been sleeping or napping. The first thing Louis did was throw his shoes at him.

“You didn’t come by the get them,” Louis explained as Harry struggled to grab them. “And they’re just crowding up the front hallway. It’s very inconsiderate of you.”

Harry blinked at him for a moment before smirking. “I thought you might want to keep them, since you’re such a fan of wearing them.”

Louis refused to acknowledge that. He hadn’t worn them again, after that first time. In fact, he’d shoved them so far back in his front closet that he’d had to pull everything out just to find them. “Yeah, well,” Louis shrugged it off.

Harry’s eyes dropped from Louis’ face, down to the bundle of papers in his arms. “What’s that?”

Louis looked down at it, and this time he couldn’t control the way his face heated up. “Erm,” Louis hesitated. “Remember that night, when you asked me about what I was doing, and I told you I was writing a piece for my theatre class? And then you asked me what it was about, and I said I’d let you know when it was done?”

Harry nodded, his smirk turning into a more genuine smile. “It’s done?”

Louis nodded, and then, before he could stop himself, he handed Harry the bundle of papers. He’d had it bound and printed off the computer, so it looked professional.

“I need someone to read it,” Louis explained quickly. “And I don’t even know why I thought of you, but I just--,”

“I’m glad you did,” Harry said, taking the booklet. He opened it immediately, eyes skimming the pages. “Can I keep it for the night?”

Louis bit his lip. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Just bring it by tomorrow, or something. I need it for class on Friday.”

Harry nodded, hand already reaching for the doorknob. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful with it.”

Louis believed that, which was really weird, because he hardly knew Harry, to be honest. And what he did know, he didn’t particularly like. Thankfully, Harry shut the door between them before Louis could snatch the book back and stop him.

He went back home but, instead of going back to his bedroom (which was a mess of discarded papers and pens that he’d broken in frustration), he went downstairs to the basement. He fell onto the couch in an ungraceful heap and then called Zayn.

“What?” Zayn snapped as a way of greeting. He’d been surly lately, and Louis had promised himself he’d figure out why, as soon as he was done his play.

“Come over,” Louis whined. “Please, Zayn, I need to get drunk and cry about my life.”

He could practically _hear_ Zayn rolling his eyes. “Can’t you do that on your own like a normal person?”

“No,” Louis pouted. “I need to cuddle, and to rant to _someone_.”

“Isn’t that what your girlfriend is for?”

“I can’t very well rant to my girlfriend about my inability to fall asleep without dreaming of boys with stupidly curly hair and bright green eyes, now can I?” Louis snapped without meaning to. He almost wanted to pull the words back in, but he couldn’t, and maybe it was best to get them out there. Zayn wouldn’t judge him, and he knew it. In fact, Zayn was probably the only person in the whole world who wouldn’t.

“You got enough alcohol for two?” Zayn asked.

“Of course,” Louis said quickly.

“I’ll be there in a few hours. I’ve got some money to make and then I’ll come over.”

Louis swallowed. “Thanks,” he said, before ending the call. He didn’t even bother pocketing his phone, but instead turned it off and tossed it onto the other side of the couch. Zayn wouldn’t call again, and he really didn’t want to talk to anyone else. His parents rarely came into the basement, so he didn’t have to worry about them, either.

He decided that, when Zayn got there, he’d order something to eat. He didn’t want to have whatever low calorie dinner his mother would make, and he didn’t feel like attempting to cook anything, either. Really, all the wanted to do was curl up on the couch with a shitty movie and shitty alcohol and food that was going to make him bloat for a year, and do nothing.

When Zayn found him, he’d already broken into his stash of vodka, but he wasn’t drunk. He hadn’t had enough of it yet, because he didn’t want to have to go upstairs to get anything to drink it with, and it was hard to down on its own.

Zayn sat down on the couch beside him, carefully plucking the bottle out of Louis’ hands. Louis didn’t move his eyes from the television screen. “We went pool hopping a few weeks ago,” Louis said quietly. “I kind of wrote it into my play, and now he’s reading it. I didn’t even realize that. He’s going to make the connection, and think it means something.”

“Does it mean something?” Zayn asked.

Louis finally turned to him just in time to see his best friend take a much larger sip of the alcohol than Louis had been willing to brave. He winced and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“No,” Louis said automatically. Truthfully. It didn’t.

“Okay,” Zayn said slowly. “And we’re talking about Harry, right? And your… play?”

Louis nodded. “My play,” he repeated. “That I gave him to read. Because I’m an idiot.”

“Alright,” Zayn stood up. “I’m getting us something to drink this with. You sit there and-- keep feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Can I feel sorry for myself and order takeout at the same time?” Louis questioned.

“Knock yourself out,” Zayn answered.

When he returned, Louis was sprawled out on the floor, legs up on the couch, arms spread above his head. Zayn gave him a look with his eyebrows raised before sinking down onto the floor beside him, mimicking Louis’ position.

It had been so long since the two of them had just fucked around for no reason, getting drunk and vegging out and just being together. Louis knew that he sometimes didn’t hold up his end of their friendship. He got caught up in his life, and school, and relationship. But, at the same time, Zayn could be blamed for the same thing. Sometimes he would go days without talking to Louis, days that Louis would spend ringing his phone over and over, wondering if he was okay. He worried about Zayn, sometimes.

“You okay?” Louis asked, turning his head to face him.

Zayn continued to stare up at the ceiling. “I’m always okay.”

“That almost sounded sincere,” Louis said quietly.

“Almost,” Zayn repeated. He rolled his head to the side. “So you like him, then? Harry?”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “I do not ‘like him’,” Louis said firmly. “I’m not-- I’m not gay. I don’t like guys.”

He didn’t. He didn’t like guys. He had a _girlfriend_ , one he was _more_  than happy with, in fact. Harry was just- annoying, and a bit fun, in a way that could get you in trouble. He was like vodka, actually, Louis decide. Harry Styles was like vodka. A good idea at the time, but prone to making you do stupid things that you’ll regret later on.

“I don’t want to talk about Harry anymore,” Louis decided. “Pass me the vodka.”

Zayn obliged. “Isn’t that why you called me over, though?”

Louis shook his head and attempted to drink while upside down. After nearly spilling the bottle all over himself, he propped himself up on one hand, took a long, burning, unpleasant sip, and then capped the bottle before laying back down. “I called you over,” Louis said, making a face as the alcohol continued to burn all the way down, “because I think we both need a pity party, and who better to have a pity party with than your best mate?”

“I don’t need a pity party,” Zayn told him.

Louis pursed his lips. “Oh, really? Because I recall a few weeks ago you heading home with a certain brown eyed wonder boy, and then, instead of calling me to share the details of your conquest, you’ve done nothing but mope around.”

“I haven’t been moping,” Zayn said, an edge to his tone.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Sure you haven’t,” he said. “But you did strike out, then? He turned you down?”

Zayn shrugged and looked back at the ceiling when he said, “No. Kind of the opposite, really.”

Louis pushed Zayn’s shoulder. “What are you upset about, then? I thought you _wanted_ to shag his brains out.”

“I didn’t,” Zayn told him. “And I don’t want to anymore.”

Louis sighed. “You’re not going to explain that to me, are you?” he asked, but there was really no need for Zayn to answer. Louis could tell he was in one of his moods, the kind where he shut everything down. Robotic Zayn.

“I think the pizza’s here,” Zayn replied, sitting up. “I’ll be back.”

Louis let him go, knowing that Zayn was probably just going out for a smoke to clear his mind. Louis took that opportunity to open the can of Coke Zayn had brought him. He took a long sip of it, and then filled the can up the rest of the way with vodka. It was going to be a long, long night, he knew.

Two hours later, Louis’ stomach was full with alcohol and pizza. Music played in the background, some R&B track that Zayn put on. And he felt better. A lot better. Everything was blurry, even Zayn. He reached for his friend, pulling him onto his lap.

“I love you,” Louis told him sincerely. “Best mate a guy could ask for.”

“I’m not having sex with you to work out your sexuality,” Zayn told him.

Louis laughed, loudly. “Don’t worry, if I wanted to experiment, you wouldn’t be the first person I’d call.”

“That’d be Harry, right?”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “No, actually, it’d be Liam.”

Zayn didn’t get upset. He just raised his eyebrows and said, “You’re a bit out of his league, aren’t you? I mean, he’s just… he’s pretty boring. And plain.”

Louis gaped at him. “Are we talking about the same boy?”

Zayn slid off Louis’ lap and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what I thought I saw in him,” Zayn said slowly. “Definitely wasted my time.”

Louis felt his eyes narrowing, slightly, and then he slapped Zayn on the shoulder hard enough that the sound of skin hitting skin overpowered the music. “What is wrong with you?” Louis demanded. “Zayn Malik, you need to grow the fuck up.”

Zayn stared at him, eyes wide. “That’s rich, coming from you,” Zayn snapped. “You’re so far in the closet that you’re going to need a map to find your way out of it.”

Louis stood up, knocking over an empty can of Coke while he did it. “I’m not,” Louis said furiously. “I’m--,”

“Oh, come on,” Zayn stood up, too. “I’ve known it since we were, like, fourteen, Louis! But you’re so afraid of being different than you won’t even admit it to yourself. So you date Eleanor, even though you don’t have anything in common with her, even though you don’t have any feelings for her. So you play football and throw parties, so no one notices the fact that you had a crush on Josh Connors in sixth year.”

“What about you?” Louis shouted. “Zayn Malik, wanna be bad boy. Pretends to be so cool and above it all, while all he really wants is for his mummy to love him! But even she won’t! So he has sex with anything with a pulse, just so he doesn’t have to think about the fact that no one cares about him!”

When he finished, he was breathing heavy. Zayn was staring him down, his chest heaving the same way Louis’ was. He could hide a lot of things, Zayn, but Louis didn’t miss the hurt in his eyes, or the way his hands clenched into fists, like he was considering punching Louis in the face.

“Zayn,” Louis said quietly, reaching out for him. “Zayn, I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean--,”

“No,” Zayn shook his head. “No, you’re right.”

“I’m not,” Louis told him. “I’m really not, you know that, right? I care about you, at least.”

“Yeah,” Zayn sunk down on the couch. “I know you do.”

Louis sat down beside him and wrapped an arm around Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn allowed it, for once, sinking his head against Louis’ shoulder. “Do you really think I’m into guys?” Louis found himself asking.

Zayn snorted. “Do you really think you’re not?”

Louis shrugged, the movement awkward because of the way the two of them were entwined. “To be honest with you, I don’t really think about it at all. Ever. Or I try not to. I don’t know.”

Zayn nodded, accepting that, and Louis threw his leg over Zayn’s. “Stay with me this weekend,” Louis said suddenly.

Zayn looked up at him, frowning. “The whole weekend?”

Louis nodded furiously. “My parents have a business meeting in London, and I’ve got the place to myself. Just stay. You can borrow my clothes, and-- and I’ll throw you whatever amount you think you’d be missing out on while you’re not working. Two hundred sound about right? I’ve got that much upstairs, or I could take some out of the bank, and--,”

“Lou,” Zayn said quietly, petting Louis’ hair. “I’m not letting you pay me to stay. I’ll stay because I want to.”

“I really do love you, you know,” Louis murmured against Zayn’s shoulder.

“I love you too, you idiot,” Zayn said back.

Louis grinned. “You said it. You never say it. ‘His heart grew four sizes that day’,” Louis said, quoting The Grinch as accurately as he could.

“Oh, shut up,” Zayn said, pushing him away.

Louis grinned wider and pulled Zayn in, pressing a sloppy, wet kiss to his cheek. Zayn made a disgusted face, but Louis just laughed and fell back against the couch.

When he woke up in the morning, sprawled out on the floor, no blanket or pillow, he felt like shit. Zayn was still asleep, and how he managed to get the couch, Louis had no idea. Or maybe he did, because he possibly consumed enough alcohol the night before to kill a young child.

He groaned loudly when he realized, belatedly, that he had school. He reached around for his phone and checked the time; it was late into the afternoon. He’d slept the day away.

Standing up, Louis kicked Zayn gently in the side. Zayn rolled over, made an annoyed sound, and pulled his shirt up to cover his face. “No,” Zayn protested. “Not getting up. Not getting up ever.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “It’s nearly four in the afternoon,” he pointed out.

“Don’t care,” Zayn shot back.

Louis ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. He knew he must have looked like a right mess, and decided to just let Zayn sleep until after his shower. He deserved it, after what Louis had said to him last night. Fuck, why had he said any of those awful things? And why had Zayn said what he did, too?

They were both fucked up, Louis realized. The two of them were far too good at putting on a mask and pushing everything away, that it was really no surprise that they ended up blowing up at each other, saying things that only the two of them would ever pick up on. They knew each other too well. Better than anyone else did, or could, and that was why it was always bad when they fought. They knew how to hurt each other too well, too.

He was heading up the stairs to his bedroom when the doorbell rang. Louis looked at the front door with contempt, considering not answering it. He really didn’t want anyone to see him in his current state. Then again, he was in the mood to yell at _someone_. Perhaps it would be a solicitor.

Louis pulled open the door, his bitchiest look on his face, waiting to chew out whoever was on the other side. When he met a pair of green eyes, he made an embarrassingly high pitched sound.

“Fun night?” Harry asked.

Louis narrowed his eyes. “I’m extremely hung-over,” Louis told him. “I ate more than enough pizza last night to feed a small country, and I feel like shit. Unless you want to be slapped and/or thrown up on, I’d suggest you go home.”

Harry didn’t seem affected by his words. In fact, he laughed. “Right,” he said, holding out Louis’ book to him. “Anyways, I finished this, and I just came to give it back to you.”

Louis took the play and held it tightly in his fingers. A million questions ran through his mind, and he couldn’t help but voice at least one of them. “Was it…?” he couldn’t even finish it, though, because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask if it was horrible, because he couldn’t hear Harry agree. And he couldn’t ask if it was good, because he wouldn’t be able to stand it if he said no, either.

“It was brilliant, and we both know it,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

“Really?” Louis asked before he could stop himself, a grin fighting its way onto his face. “I mean, maybe. I don’t know if it will be good enough to win, but--,”

“It is,” Harry said slowly. “In fact, when it _does_ win, we’re going to celebrate.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Celebrate? You mean we’re going to throw a party, and invite everyone we know to congratulate my wonderful self?”

“No,” Harry snorted. “I mean I’m going to pick up cheap bear, Chinese takeaway, and we’re going to watch shitty movies with our friends. That’s how you _properly_ celebrate something important. With people who matter, not ones who don’t.”

“You don’t know any of my friends,” Louis pointed out, leaning against the door.

“I know Niall,” Harry said, while shoving his hands into his pockets. He rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet. “And I kind of know Zayn. And Liam’s like a homeless puppy, he just shows up at your door with those wide brown eyes and you can’t turn him away.”

“We’ll see,” Louis said, suddenly self conscious about the shit state he was in. He’d rather have this conversation while he was in clean clothes, after he was showered and his hair was styled.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. Louis pushed on the door, already starting to close it. “Oh, wait, here,” Harry said, digging into his pocket. He pulled out a CD case and handed it to Louis. Then he did an awkward sort of wave and walked away.

Louis turned the case over while he shut the door. Written in a sort of sloppy script were the titles of each song, and beside each song was a scene number. Almost all of them had the word ‘instrumental’ beside them, except for one.

Louis frowned at the CD and went upstairs. He planned to shower, he did, but he ended up sitting on his bed, shirt off, while the CD played quietly in the background.

He knew his play off by heart, by that point, having read it so many times. As the CD played, he understood the scene numbers listed after each song. The songs fit the mood perfectly of each one, and since the songs were just the music, with no lyrics or singing, Louis could almost imagine his play being acted out, with Harry’s homemade soundtrack playing in the background.

When he got to the song for the scene that had been inspired by the night he’d spent with Harry, the only song with lyrics played. It was an acoustic version, but Louis faintly recognized it. He grabbed for the CD case, searching for the name. _Hero/Heroine_ , by Boys Like Girls.

Louis hit the replay button and then fell back onto his bed, deciding to delay his shower for a few more minutes while the music surrounded him, trying not to think too hard about how much effort must have been put into the mix. Or the fact that Harry seemed to understand what Louis said better than Louis ever thought anyone could.

 

* * *

 

**Harry**

 

He was walking through school on the last day before they got off for Christmas hols when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned at the unknown number before covering his ear with one hand, while pressing his phone to the other ear. “Hello?”

“I won!” someone shrieked loudly in his ear. “They’re doing my play. I won! I fucking won!”

Harry ducked into an abandoned classroom and pulled the door closed behind himself. “I told you!” Harry said, grinning to himself. “I knew you would. It was great.”

He wasn’t lying. Louis’ play had been great in every way. It had been laugh out loud funny at parts, and also quick witted and smart at others. Harry hadn’t missed the important lesson to be learned in it, the fact that the whole thing was about finding your way back to yourself, and not needing someone else to do it for you, but needing other people there to lean on while you struggled.

It also opened Harry’s eyes, made him realize that maybe Louis was more than just fancy clothes and a shiny car and perfect hair.

“Wait,” Harry said, frowning. “How did you even get my number?”

Louis was quiet on the other end for a moment. “Niall’s very easy to get information out of.”

Harry laughed. “So we’re on for tonight, then?”

“Mm?”

“To celebrate,” Harry elaborated.

“Oh,” Louis’ voice dropped an octave. “I guess.”

“Invite Zayn, too,” Harry said quickly.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Louis asked. “He and Liam--,”

“What do you know?” Harry demanded instantly.

Harry couldn’t remember seeing so little of Liam in his life. Every time Harry seen him, he claimed to be busy. “I need to focus on my game,” he’d say. Or, “I’m behind in English again, I can’t talk right now.”

Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew something was up with Liam, but he also had no idea how to get it out of him. Where Harry was concerned, Liam was an open book. Harry was the one who needed pushing to let things out.

The tables were turned for once, and Harry knew that it had something to do with Zayn, whether Liam admitted it or not. He’d put two and two together, knew that Liam’s downward spiral had started around the same time he’d left the rugby game with Zayn, which he still wouldn’t talk about whenever Harry brought it up.

“I think that’s between the two of them,” Louis said in a clipped tone. “But I’ll invite him. I can’t promise he’ll show up.”

Harry nodded before remembering that Louis couldn’t see him. “Right, I’ll see you after school, then. I’ll bring the movies.”

Louis made a sound of confirmation, and then the phone went dead. Harry looked at it for a moment before realizing that Louis had hung up on him. He rolled his eyes, wondering why he wasn’t surprised.

After school, he went straight to Liam’s locker, Niall on his left for backup.

“Come on,” Harry said, closing Liam’s locker for him. “Let’s go.” He grabbed Liam’s arm.

Liam tried to pull out of his grasp, but Niall grabbed his other arm and started leading him in the same direction as Harry. “I can’t,” Liam protested. “I have to--,”

“Nothing,” Harry finished for him. “We’re officially on holidays. No excuses this time, Liam.”

Liam shook his head, hair flying chaotically. “Harry, come on, I really don’t want to--,”

“You’ve bailed on us for the past month,” Niall pointed out. “We’ve missed you.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “We’ve missed you. And you look like you’re in serious need of some fun.”

It was true. Liam had bags under his eyes, and if Harry had to guess, he’d say that Liam had even lost a bit of weight. His shirt hung off him, a bit loose. He’d never seen his best friend look so down, and he mentally scolded himself for letting it get this bad before he did something about it.

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” Liam asked when they got outside. He sighed and slumped into Niall and Harry’s grip.

“We’re going to Lou’s,” Harry answered, heading towards his car. “We’re celebrating.”

Liam stopped dead in his tracks, and Harry realized that he hadn’t really been trying to fight them before, because now his arm slipped from Harry’s hands with one quick, sharp tug. Liam was shaking his head and backing away from them.

“No,” he said firmly. “No. I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are,” Harry snapped. “Liam, come on. You’re wasting away. You need to just spend time with your friends, and--,”

“Since when is Louis our friend?” Liam demanded, and Harry was taken aback by his raised tone. Liam didn’t yell at people, ever. “I get that you want to shag him, Harry, but please, don’t pretend like this is for anyone else but yourself. And I’m not going. I don’t want to be a part of it.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “That’s not what this is about!”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “Really? So you’re saying you don’t have a thing for him, then.”

Harry shut his mouth at that. He couldn’t deny it.

“Liam,” Niall tried. “It’ll be fun. We’re just going to watch stupid movies and get a bit drunk. Zayn will be there, and--,”

“Fine,” Liam snapped, brushing past them. He climbed into the backseat of Harry’s car, door slamming shut behind him. Liam usually sat in the passenger seat, with Niall in the back.

“Do you reckon we should punch Zayn in the face for causing that?” Niall asked quietly.

“I don’t think it would make him feel better, to be honest,” Harry answered, frowning at the ground.

“It’d make me feel better,” Niall said. “A bit.”

Harry put a hand on his arm. “Me too,” he admitted.

Just like he’d told Louis, he stopped to pick up takeaway on the way home, Niall accompanying him inside the shop. Liam resolutely stayed inside the car, but when they got back outside, he leaned forward.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For what I said.”

Harry shrugged, passing the food bags to Liam so he could put them on the seat beside himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Want to tell us what happened, though?” Niall asked.

Harry could see Liam fidgeting in the backseat. “I’d really rather not. It’s bad enough that I have to see him today.”

Harry was used to seeing Liam this jumpy, but usually it was only before a big game. “Did he try something with you?” Harry asked quietly. “Liam, if he did something you didn’t want him to, you have to tell us--,”

“No,” Liam said quickly. Harry could hear the thickness of held back tears in his voice. “No, he didn’t do anything like that.”

Harry nodded, and Niall looked surprised. “So you two didn’t… you know?” Niall asked.

Liam laughed, but it wasn’t his usual laugh. “No, we didn’t,” he answered. “Do you two honestly think that _Zayn_ would want someone like _me_?”

Harry looked at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Liam shrugged. “Means what I said. Zayn’s…. And I’m just-- I’m just Liam.”

“You’re not just anything,” Niall said, and Harry made a sound of agreement. “I told you that lad’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, well,” Liam looked back out the window. “He’s not the one who made a fool of himself. That’s all on me.”

When they turned onto Harry’s street, Harry pulled into his own lot and shut off the car. “Maybe we shouldn’t go.”

Liam shook his head and grabbed the food bags. “No, we’re going.”

Harry looked at him. “But--,”

“This is about Louis, right? Something about a play, and you being in love with him. So let’s go.”

Harry spluttered. “I’m not--,”

“Yeah, you are mate,” Niall said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Come back here with that food, Payne!” Niall shouted, getting out of the car.

“I’ve got to get the movies,” Harry said quickly, running into the house.

He shut the door between himself and his friends, and leaned against it for a moment. He wasn’t in love with Louis. He was slightly attracted to him. Christ, what the hell was wrong with his friends?

He ran a hand through his hair. “What’s wrong with _me_?” he added under his breath.

He’d grabbed a bunch of his movies from home when he’d went there to see his mum and Gemma. He loved when Gemma came to visit. He missed his sister quiet a lot, to be honest.

He grabbed _Love Actually_ , because it was his favourite, but added a few other movies to the pile, just in case. And then he felt weird, bringing over _Love Actually_. It was a romance movie. That would just be wrong to bring to Louis’ celebratory night in, right?

Harry sighed and brought it anyways. He needed to stop over analysing everything he did. He didn’t care if Louis absolutely _hated_ all his movie choices, because he didn’t really care about Louis. That much. He was proud of him for winning, and that was it. His play had been really good.

When he got back outside, Liam was leaning against the car, a bit of a put-on smile on his face. Niall was trying to dig into the bags of food and Liam kept swatting his hand away.

“Ready to go?” Harry asked.

Liam nodded, and Niall just said a cheeky, “Are _you_?”

Harry rolled his eyes and used the sidewalk to get to Louis’ house. He didn’t think his father’s neighbours would appreciate him ruining their green lawns.

The second Louis’ door opened, Harry was pulled into a tight hug. He couldn’t do anything, since the DVDs were in his hands, but he wanted to drop them and wrap his arms around Louis’ waist, holding him in place, and breath in the scent of light cologne and what had to be strawberry scented shampoo.

Then Louis let him go, straightened his shirt, and said an awkward, “Sorry, I’m just really happy.”

“We’re happy for you, too,” Niall said, pushing past Harry and into the house without invitation. “But I’ll be a lot happier for you if we can get downstairs and start eating this.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Fine, let’s go. Oh,” he turned to Harry. “I know you said cheap beer, but I don’t drink cheap beer, so I hope wine will do.”

Harry shook his head. “You’re really stuck up, you know that?”

“You say stuck up,” Louis said as they headed into the basement. “I say classy.”

In the basement, Niall instantly claimed a spot on the floor. Liam sat down on one end of the couch, while Louis took the other. “So, Haz,” Louis said, and Harry looked up at the nickname. Louis’ eyes widened a bit when Harry’s met them, as if he hadn’t even meant to say that. He coughed and corrected himself. “So, Harry, what movies did you bring?”

Harry held up a few cases. “ _Love Actually_ -,” Liam groaned loudly. “Um, _Cruel Intentions_? It’s my second favourite, and Liam doesn’t hate that one as much. Plus, it’s got, like, the greatest soundtrack ever.”

Louis held out his hand and Harry handed over the small pile of DVD cases. Louis looked through them all, his lips becoming a thinner line the longer they waited. “Are these _all_ romantic movies?” Louis asked finally. “What kind of teenage boy doesn’t own a football movie, or a cop movie?”

“The kind who thinks those movies are rubbish,” Harry told him, sliding onto the cushion between Liam and Louis.

Louis finally sighed and stood up, and Harry noted that _Cruel Intentions_ was held tightly in his hand. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was because it was the one Louis seemed to like the most, or if it was because Harry said it was one of his favourites.

Then Niall broke out the food, and Louis produced wine and non-alcoholic beverages, and everyone settled in as the movie started. It wasn’t until they’d past through the opening credits that Harry realized it.

“Where’s Zayn?”

Liam physically reacted to the question, his body jerking as he turned to face Harry.

“Oh, he’s running a bit late,” Louis answered, wiping his mouth after the large sip of red wine he’d just taken straight from the bottle. Really classy.

Almost as if Harry saying his name had conjured him, a moment later the sound of footsteps on the stairs had everyone turning around. Except Liam.

Niall’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his mouth busy with food instead of insulting Zayn with what would no doubt be a colourful repertoire of curse words.

“Zayn,” Louis said loudly, as if to make up for the suddenly hostile atmosphere. “Get your arse over here and celebrate with me. Harry promised that if we got him drunk enough, he’d go streaking down the street for ten pounds.”

Niall couldn’t help but laugh at that, and Zayn’s lips quirked up a bit. Liam just stared at the television. “I’d do it for five,” Harry said. “And I don’t need to be drunk.”

“He’s not kidding,” Liam said quietly. “The year before our first year of college, Harry got suspended for running through the halls with nothing but a basketball to cover himself.”

“I remember that!” Niall said loudly. “Right after I transferred! I thought the whole school was mad.”

After that, it was a little more relaxed. Zayn sat on the floor by Louis’ feet, Niall handed him a plate of food, and Louis drank enough wine for more than three people, while the rest of them -- minus Liam-- drank a bit slower.

By the time the movie was over, though, they all had a good buzz going. Louis sat up and said loudly, “That’s bullshit.”

Harry looked up at him. “It’s not bullshit. It’s a great movie.”

“No, it’s not,” Louis told him. “He changed his ways for her! He fell in love with her, and did everything he could to be the kind of man who deserved her love in return, and then-- and then he _died_ before she could tell him that she wanted to be with him too!”

“I’m surprised you caught all that,” Harry admitted, “given the entire bottle of wine you drank.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “I handle my liquor well, I’ll have you know. Now give me another movie. One that preferably doesn’t rip my heart out and stomp on it.”

They put in another movie. Louis settled in beside him again, and this time, Harry felt warm all over, whether from the alcohol or from Louis’ side pressed against him. He breathed in that scent of cologne and berries again, and found himself leaning in towards Louis, just a bit.

Louis tensed beside him, and his finger drummed an unknown beat on his leg. Harry found himself watching Louis’ fingers instead of the movie, and when he looked up Louis was looking at him.

Harry swallowed. He couldn’t go there. He couldn’t. It would be a mistake. They were on their way to becoming friends. Good friends. He could see it now, the five of them hanging out all the time, in Louis’ basement, or Harry’s room, or on the football field, laughing and listening to music and sharing stories of their lives. Louis had a girlfriend, for God’s sake. Harry did not need to kiss him. He really didn’t. Especially when he didn’t really know if Louis was into guys.

But then Louis’ hand moved off his own leg, onto Harry’s, and he started drumming that same beat. Harry shifted impossibly closer to him, and he could hear Louis humming softly under his breath, and he finally realized what song he was playing in his head. The same one Harry had put on the mixed CD he’d given Louis when he’d brought him back the play. The one that had been stuck in Harry’s own head for days after that night with Louis.

Harry had a bad habit of trying to make up a soundtrack to his life, and he’d decided that, if that moment with Louis had been a scene in a movie, that was the song he’d want playing in the background.

Harry didn’t even remember what movie they were watching, after that.

 

* * *

 

**Liam**

Liam didn’t bother drinking with everyone else, for multiple reasons. For one, he wasn’t really a drinker. Also, someone had to be sober enough to get Niall and Harry back to Harry’s place. And then, of course, there was the fact that Zayn was there, and Liam really didn’t want to make a fool of himself again. And he was already down enough; who knew what might come out of his mouth after a few glasses of wine?

That, of course, meant that he was stuck spending the evening sober, and his sober thoughts really weren’t any better than his drunk ones would be, he figured.

He was sitting on the couch next to Harry and Louis, both of who were in a pleasant state of intoxication that had them bending their heads together and whispering words that Liam couldn’t hear. Zayn was on the floor closer to Louis’ side of the couch, but he might as well of been right beside Liam, because Liam noticed every move he made, every word he said.

He really wished he didn’t, because he felt creepy, unable to take his eyes of Zayn. And he felt pathetic. He wasn’t going to spend his time wanting after someone who would never reciprocate those feelings. Because Zayn wouldn’t, and he knew it. Liam had practically offered himself to Zayn on a platter, and Zayn had waved him back to the kitchen, discarded and unwanted.

It really wasn’t fair that he’d kissed Liam first, though. That Liam now knew what Zayn’s skin felt like under his fingertips and his lips. That he knew that Zayn tasted like sweetness and smoke. Or that, underneath those clothes he was currently wearing was a canvas of ink that he’d never learn the meanings behind.

Of course, he’d known it was too good to be true. Had known it from the beginning, when he found Zayn standing outside the fence, watching him. He just hadn’t realized that he’d be allowed in for a moment, only to have that door swing closed between them.

A part of him wanted to be mad at Zayn, and yet, he couldn’t be. He understood, at least, that Liam wasn’t enough for someone like that. Or anyone, really. That was why Harry was his only friend, why he’d never had a girlfriend-- or boyfriend.

He realized that Niall had passed out, and that Louis and Harry were too entwined in each other to really pay attention to the movie. Liam stood up and ran a hand through his hair. It was limp. He didn’t bother to spend time taking care of it in the last few weeks, because he really didn’t see a point.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Liam said quietly.

Harry looked up at him, tearing his eyes away from Louis. “You okay, Li?” Harry asked. Harry rarely used nicknames on him, and Liam could see the concern in his eyes.

“Definitely,” Liam said, smiling brightly. “I just need to, you know. Bathroom.”

“Get us some snacks from the cupboard,” Louis told him. “Not the one above the sink, but the one to the left of it.”

Liam nodded. He wasn’t comfortable going through the cupboards of someone else’s house, but he also didn’t want to say no.

Harry turned back to half watching the movie, half giggling with Louis. Liam wasn’t even going to comment on that, because he knew that Harry honestly had no idea that he liked Louis as much as he did.

Liam knew Harry better than anyone. He’d been there through what Harry’s sister Gemma refers to as the Big Gay Freakout of 2008, and then Cally, his girlfriend during their first year of college, and then Mark, his boyfriend during the summer. He’d seen Harry fall in love with a stranger at the mall. Harry felt things strongly, always, but over time that’d also made him more than a bit guarded, because he’d realized that feeling that strongly meant a bigger chance at him getting hurt.

Liam liked Louis just fine, but he also knew that Louis had a girlfriend. He just hoped that the two of them would be smart with this, lest one or both of them end up getting hurt.

In the bathroom, Liam didn’t know what to do. He really didn’t have to go, he just wanted something to do. He ended up splashing water on his face and then looking at himself in the mirror.

He needed a haircut, that was obvious. There wasn’t anything else _technically_ wrong with him, but there wasn’t anything _good_ either. He was just plain. All muted browns.

When he left the bathroom, he went into the kitchen to find the snacks. He realized he’d forgotten what cupboard Louis had said and hesitated, wondering what to do now, when a hand reached over him and opened the one to the left of where Liam was standing. Liam sucked in a breath and took a step back as Zayn grabbed out a bag of crisps. He ripped it open, grabbing one out and popping it into his mouth. He offered the bag to Liam.

“I’m fine,” Liam said, shaking his head.

Zayn shrugged and turned to head back downstairs. Liam didn’t want to follow him, but he couldn’t do anything else.

About an hour and another half of a movie later, Louis pushed Harry, and Harry knocked into Liam, and Liam ended up falling off the couch. Louis efficiently manhandled Harry until he was sitting in the spot Liam had just been in, and then he laid his head down in Harry’s lap.

“Stay,” Louis murmured. “All of you. 'Kay?”

Harry looked down at Liam with wide eyes, his hands hovering above Louis’ body like he had no idea what to do with them. “I, um,” Harry frowned and shook his head, like he couldn’t form coherent thoughts with Louis’ head in his lap. Liam snorted. “I’d have to text my dad.”

“Would I have to get up in order for you to do that?” Louis asked.

“Uh, yeah. Phone’s in my pocket.”

Liam stood up. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll run over to your place and let your dad know.”

“I’ll come with you,” Zayn said suddenly. Liam looked at him, eyebrows drawn together. “It’s late. Bad neighbourhood.” Zayn shrugged.

“Good idea,” Louis said sleepily, his eyes drifting closed. “Take good care of him, Liam, I’m rather fond of his stupid face.”

Zayn snorted and headed towards the stairs, pausing to toss a “You coming?” over his shoulder to Liam.

Liam sighed and followed him. There was an awkward silence as the two of them pulled on their shoes, and it only broke when Zayn asked, “It’s the third one down, right?”

Liam nodded. “Yeah, the one with the-- well, I’d say the too expensive car in the driveway, but in this neighbourhood I guess that’s really not helpful.”

Zayn’s lips quirked up a bit. Liam was extremely careful not to let their arms brush against each other as they walked, keeping at least a foot of space between the two of them. He almost tripped off the sidewalk twice, but that was a price he was willing to pay.

Liam let himself into Harry’s house without knocking, and John peeked his head out of the kitchen. “Who’s this?” he asked, pointing a spatula at Zayn. Liam frowned at it. It had to be close to midnight, and he was cooking.

“Zayn Malik, sir,” Zayn said, extending his hand.

Liam looked at it, and then up at Zayn, who had a very respectful look on his face. One Liam had never seen before.

“Polite,” John commented. “I like him.” John took his hand, and while he was shaking it, a look of realization came over his face. “You’re Patricia’s son?”

Liam watched the emotions play out on Zayn’s face: the shock, first, and then the pained look. Then his eyes narrowed, and without any warning he was ducking out of the house, leaving Liam and John standing there, dumbstruck.

“I-,” Liam looked over his shoulder. “I should go after him. Harry wanted me to come over and tell you that we’re staying at Louis’ house. He was, uh, too busy playing a game of foosball to come over.”

John nodded. “Tell that boy I’m sorry, okay? I don’t think before I talk sometimes.”

Liam nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind himself.

He could only faintly see Zayn in the distance, walking briskly down the street, already past Louis’ house. A cloud of smoke followed him, and Liam found himself jogging in his direction.

Zayn didn’t stop walking when Liam caught up to him. He just kept going, head held high, bringing his cigarette to his lips every few moments. Liam didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he had a right to say anything. In fact, he was just waiting for Zayn to tell him to go, but he didn’t. He just kept walking, and Liam tried to match his pace, staying with him.

They left Harry’s street, and kept going. Zayn finished a whole cigarette quickly, and he pulled another one from the pack and lit it without even skipping a step. He didn’t once turn to Liam, or talk to him. Liam didn’t know if this meant he was supposed to just silently follow, or if it was Zayn’s way of telling him to get lost.

Zayn seemed to know the area better than Liam did, and eventually they were walking through a park. Zayn stopped abruptly, sinking down onto a bench. Liam hesitated before doing the same.

“Are you… are you okay, Zayn?” Liam asked.

Zayn laughed, smoke billowing from his mouth as he did so. “I’m just fine, Liam.”

“Do you want to-,”

“Talk about it?” Zayn finished for him. He snorted. “Not with you.”

Liam tried not to take that to heart, but it was hard not to. “Okay.”

Zayn sighed loudly and flicked his cigarette away. Liam watched as the light from the cherry rolled down the sidewalk. There wasn’t much else to light up the area they were in. He could only faintly make out Zayn’s features.

“Why are you here, Liam?” Zayn wondered.

Liam licked his lips. “Um, because I thought you might need someone. And I thought-,”

“That you could be that person for me?” Zayn guessed.

Liam could see him shaking his head, and he felt stupid all over again. In that small moment, he _was_ mad at Zayn, for constantly making him be so ridiculously stupid.

Zayn shifted on the bench so that he was facing Liam, and his hand came up to brush a stand of hair off Liam’s forehead, his fingers lingering on Liam’s skin. “Someone’s going to break you one day, Liam Payne,” Zayn said so softly that Liam almost didn’t catch it.

Liam didn’t know what to say to that, but he didn’t really have to say anything, because Zayn leaned in, his lips finding Liam’s easily in the dark. Liam froze momentarily, questions flying through his mind, begging for answers, but he didn’t voice any of them, didn’t want to break whatever was going on here like he had last time.

“No talking, okay?” Zayn said against his lips. “Just kiss me. Deal?”

Liam nodded, eyes falling closed, as Zayn pressed on his shoulder, guiding him down. Liam found himself laying on his back on the bench, legs spread wide for Zayn to fit between them. Zayn was kissing him fiercely, so hard that Liam wondered if he would leave bruises on Liam’s lips. He found that he wouldn’t mind, really.

This time, Zayn tasted a bit like wine mixed with the sweetness and the smoke, and Liam drank it in, lost in the feeling and taste of Zayn. His fingers knotted themselves in Zayn’s hair, maybe a bit too tight, like he was holding on because he didn’t want Zayn to go again.

And then Zayn did exactly that, sliding easily off Liam’s body. Liam could see the wide grin on his face as Zayn extended his hand to Liam, who sat up and took it. “Come on,” he urged, pulling Liam back along the path they’d taken to get to the park. “Lou’s parents aren’t home and the rest of the lads are downstairs.”

Liam frowned at that but didn’t ask why it was important. When they got back to Harry and Louis’ street, though, Liam stopped and Zayn turned, that manic grin still in place. “What are we doing?” Liam asked.

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Didn’t I say no talking? Come _on_ , Liam,” he urged, tugging on Liam’s hand.

Liam realized, in that moment, just how screwed he was. He took in Zayn’s bright eyes, the way his hair was mused from Liam running his hands through it, and his lips were slick and a bit swollen. He memorized the whole scene in his head, so he could always look back and remember that this was the moment he knew he was absolutely, completely fucked.

Liam let Zayn lead him towards the house, because Liam realized he wanted to go wherever Zayn wanted to take him, regardless of the consequences.

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

He really didn’t know how the hell he let himself do this. He vowed, after that day weeks ago, that he would leave Liam alone. He didn’t need someone like Liam in his life, constantly reminding him of all the things he’d done wrong, not with words, but by being the exact opposite of Zayn. Making him feel inferior just by _being_ , and of course having no idea he was even doing it.

And Liam Payne did not need someone like Zayn in his life, either.

Yet, on that bench, he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help but reach out and touch him, almost like he was making sure Liam was real, because sometimes it made no sense that he was. And Zayn had warned him. He _warned_ Liam that he was going to hurt him, in his own way, and Liam still hadn’t pushed him away.

Zayn had never been more thankful for Louis’ parents constant absence as he was when he pulled Liam inside Louis’ house. He shut the door behind Liam, pausing to press the other boy against the hard surface. Liam was compliant and willing against him, his body leaning into Zayn’s as if he couldn’t help it.

“Upstairs, yeah?” Zayn asked, pulling back just enough to see Liam’s face.

Liam’s eyes flicked to the stairs, then back to Zayn. Zayn could see him swallow, see his Adam’s apple bob with the movement. He wanted to kiss it, wanted to cover the birthmark there with his lips. So he did.

“Okay,” Liam agreed breathlessly.

Zayn grabbed Liam’s hand again, this time leading him up the stairs to Louis’ room. He was going to have to apologize to him later, but, since Zayn had spent the better part of the night a few weeks ago listening to Louis wax on about Harry and how unfair it was that Harry was a thing that existed, he didn’t really feel bad about it.

Liam hesitated just inside the door, but then Zayn gave him another, slightly stronger tug, and Liam walked forward, closing the door softly behind himself. And then, without any warning, Liam was moving forward and kissing Zayn this time. Zayn could feel the tips of each of his fingers where they dug into his Zayn’s hips through his t-shirt, like they were on fire, and instead of wanting that fire to be put out, Zayn wanted it to consume him.

Zayn felt himself being pushed backwards as Liam’s tongue ran out along the seam of Zayn’s mouth while he pushed Zayn’s jacket off. He parted his lips obligingly and Liam’s slight hesitance was all Zayn needed to take control again. He grabbed Liam’s shoulders, easily turning the other boy so that Zayn was the one guiding again, until Liam’s legs hit the bed. He fell onto it, pulling Zayn down with him, not breaking the kiss once.

“Wait,” Liam said, pushing Zayn away. “Are we-- are we in Louis’ bed?”

Zayn nodded and moved his lips down to Liam’s neck, once again kissing that birthmark before deciding that he wanted to add a mark of his own. He sucked on the skin and Liam’s fingers threaded in his hair again. Usually, that was something that annoyed him, the hair touching or tugging, but with Liam… he didn’t mind. In fact, he kind of liked it.

“Are you sure this is - _oh_ \- okay? He’s not going to be upset?” Liam asked, and Zayn looked up to see that Liam’s eyes were squeezed shut, and his lips were still parted.

“Definitely okay,” Zayn assured him, fingers finding the hem of Liam’s shirt. Last time, he hadn’t gotten it off before things ended. This time, he wanted a chance to see what was underneath Liam’s clothes, and he wasn’t going to wait, just in case something stopped them again.

Liam arched off the bed when Zayn tugged his shirt up, and Zayn helped him take it off before tossing it somewhere on the floor and pushing on Liam’s shoulder to get him to lay back down again. He wanted to yell at himself for leaving the light off, because the small amount of it filtering in through Louis’ window wasn’t good enough.

Zayn let his lips discover what his eyes couldn’t, kissing from Liam’s collarbone, down his chest, to his stomach. It was all hard muscle and smooth skin, except for the thin trail of hair that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. When his fingers fumbled for the button on those jeans, Liam let out a quiet gasp, and Zayn smirked up at him.

Liam had his bottom lip between his teeth, and he was leaning up on his elbows a bit, watching Zayn (who was watching _him_ ), while Zayn undid his jeans. When the zipper was undone, Zayn tugged impatiently on the material, and Liam kicked them off.

And then he was reaching for Liam’s boxers, and Liam’s eyes widened, and then they, too, were gone.

Zayn put a hand on Liam’s thigh and Liam’s leg shook under his touch. He kissed the indentation below Liam’s hip and then really took in the boy beneath him. Liam was all hard muscle; even his legs were toned. He was hard, too, unsurprisingly, his cock jutting up out of a thick amount of dark hair. Zayn’s fingers dug into the skin of Liam’s thigh a bit, and he found himself muttering, “God, you’re beautiful,” without even meaning to.

Zayn was about to wrap his hand around Liam when the other boy asked, “What?”

Zayn looked up at him. “Hmm?”

“What did you say?” Liam asked, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“Babe, I’m about to put your cock in my mouth,” Zayn said very slowly, “and you want me to clarify what I just said?”

“I just--,” Liam shook his head. “I thought you said--,”

“I didn’t,” Zayn assured him, and then he wrapped his hand around the base of Liam’s cock so that hopefully the other boy would _stop talking_ , because when Liam talked, Zayn thought, and when Zayn thought, things started to _mean_  something, and he didn’t want that. He just wanted to get Liam off, and maybe have Liam get him off, and that was that. No sticky emotions or heartfelt words exchanged.

Zayn swiped his tongue around the head of Liam’s cock. Zayn was more used to being on the receiving end of this, but he’d given his fair amount of blowjobs over the years. He wasn’t intimidated by Liam’s size, exactly, he was just… taking his time.

Liam let out a quiet sound at the first touch of Zayn’s mouth, and it was fucking lovely, both surprised and overwhelmed. Zayn was hit with the sudden realization that he was the first person to ever do this for Liam.

Zayn wrapped his lips around the tip, and then took as much of Liam as he could in his mouth, his hand making up the difference. By the time he slid his lips back up, Liam’s fingers had curled themselves into the sleeve of Zayn’s t-shirt.

He couldn’t lie to himself, though he kind of wished he could, and taking Liam apart-- even if he wasn’t getting any release on his own need, straining against the confines of his jeans-- was something Zayn found himself liking a bit too much. The shallow, breathless gasps, and the fingers curling and uncurling, as if Liam no longer had control over what his body did. He was right, when he told Liam was he was beautiful, because he was. He really was.

And it was all over a lot faster than Zayn would have hoped. Liam let out a strangled, “Zayn, I--,” and Zayn pulled off him while his hand continued to work Liam until he was coming over Zayn’s fingers. Liam’s whole body slumped after his orgasm, eyes fluttering shut, hands falling from where they’d been gripping Zayn’s shirt tightly, down to the bed, his back no longer arching up into Zayn’s touch.

Zayn crawled up the bed a bit and fell onto his back beside Liam, so they were in the same position. He wiped his hand off on Louis’ bedspread, smirking to himself while he did so. Of course, he’d bring it downstairs tomorrow and put it in the washer for Louis, but they’d both forever live with the knowledge of what Zayn had done on Louis’ bed, and Zayn thought that was only fitting. Louis could be a real prick.

Liam rolled over a moment later, and his hand fell onto Zayn’s stomach. Zayn looked into his eyes, barely noticeable in the dark, and he kept his smirk in place, letting Liam know that he was pleased with himself.

Liam’s hand moved from his stomach, over the waistband of his jeans, and continued downwards, until he palmed Zayn through his pants. His eyes dropped to watch his own movements, a concentrated look on his face. Zayn struggled not to find it cute and then decided _fuck it_ ; Liam was touching his cock, and yeah, okay, he was fucking cute.

Liam moved his hand back when Zayn reached down and undid his own jeans, knowing that, at the pace Liam was going, the sun would be rising before he got to that point, and Zayn really, really needed to come.

There was no finesse in the way Liam plunged his hand into Zayn’s boxers and grabbed a hold of him. There was no teasing, or drawing it out. Liam had this set look on his face, one Zayn recalled seeing on his face when he’d watched Liam playing rugby, like he was determined, mind set. And Zayn? He definitely wasn’t complaining, having that kind of concentration on his cock. Especially not when Liam’s hands --warm, slightly calloused, fingers thick-- felt so, _so_ good.

Zayn let out an involuntary sound when Liam twisted his wrist a bit, thumb sliding over the head, and Liam groaned at the sound. Then Liam leaned forward, with no warning, and kissed Zayn again, long and slow, tongue following the same beat as his hand. And then Zayn was coming, still in his boxers, staining the front and coating Liam’s hand.

Liam slid his hand out of Zayn’s boxers, and they both lay there for a minute. Zayn’s eyelids felt heavy, and he knew that if he let himself stay any longer, he’d fall asleep. Not that it’d be a big deal; Louis wouldn’t be upset if he came upstairs to find Liam and Zayn passed out in his bed. In fact, he might actually throw them a freaking party for it, or chuck a box of condoms at them. Zayn just couldn’t allow it to happen, though, because he didn’t want to wake up curled around Liam’s body, with Liam’s arm around him, smelling like sweat and that underwhelming body spray that Liam must wear, the one he could only pick up on when he was close enough to taste Liam’s skin.

He couldn’t have that, because he couldn’t have Liam, and he doesn’t want Liam. Not like that. He wants Liam under him, or over him. He wants to be inside Liam, or hell, even the other way around. But that’s it. He wants Liam on the surface, but if they woke up together, he had a feeling that he’d end up getting much deeper than that.

“We should go back downstairs,” Zayn said quietly, sitting up.

Liam blinked up at him, and Zayn wanted to punch himself in the face for deciding to fuck around with someone with eyes like that, because they were going to be the death of him, he just knew it. “Right,” Liam said slowly.

Zayn located his clothes easily, even being gentlemanly enough to toss Liam his own shirt. Liam dressed slower than him, but Zayn was pretty good at pulling on his clothes quickly after a hook-up. He had practise with that. Liam, on the other hand, apparently did not. His eyes slid to Zayn often enough that Zayn had to swallow back a, “What are you looking at?”

When they got back into the basement, Zayn realized that one of the others -- definitely not Louis, even though it was his house, because Louis was a lazy bastard-- had gotten blankets and pillows. Harry was sleeping sitting up, Louis’ head in his lap, but a blanket now lay between the two of them. Niall was curled up on the floor, one pillow under his head, the other tucked under his arm.

There were two spots set up for them, not even close to each other, and Zayn turned off the movie on the way to one of the makeshift beds. He heard Liam stumble and mutter “Crap,” before he laid down and pulled the blanket over himself. He fell asleep, distinctly aware of Liam’s presence not really all that far from him, knowing that Liam was still awake, staring at the ceiling.

 

* * *

 

**Niall**

“You’re staying with us for Christmas, right?” Harry had asked only a few days after that night at Louis’. He’d been in a brilliant mood since then, though he snapped on Niall and Liam every time they suggested that it might be because of Louis.

Niall had hesitated. He didn’t plan to go home, but he also hadn’t ever spent the holidays away from his parents before. This would be the first year that he wouldn’t wake up late in the day on Christmas to find poorly wrapped presents under a small, fake Christmas tree that should have been replaced years ago, because the branches drooped and there were too many needles missing from it.

Niall had agreed to Harry’s offer before he really thought it through, and when Harry told him a few days later that Niall would have to share Harry’s room back home with him, because his sister was taking the guest bedroom, Niall felt himself go cold. This was all a very, very bad idea, mostly because he hadn’t told Harry about the fact that he’d possibly made out with his sister, but also because he’d never mentioned to Gemma, who he found himself texting more often than not, that he knew her brother. Extremely well.

Thankfully, he had a bit of a distraction in the form of his job. Of course, he still had community service, though he and Harry would both be finishing up with that, come January, but the place he worked at, Dish and Chips, was great. Most of the staff was laid back, and they’d managed to work around Niall’s schedule. Plus, the pay wasn’t half bad, considering he got free chips all day while we worked on top of his pay check.

They were scheduled to stay at Harry’s from the twentieth and then after that, it was up for discussion, whether they went back to Harry's dad's. Harry was still extremely adamant about going back home, though Niall noticed that Harry’s dad got tight lipped whenever the subject was brought up.

“When I go back,” Harry had said one night while he and Niall sat in Harry’s room, listening to some new album from a band that Niall had never heard of, whose name he’d never remember because it was long and sounded like it was stolen directly from a Robert Frost poem. “You’re coming too, right? I already talked to mum, and apparently so did John. There’ll be room for you there, once Gem goes back to Uni.”

Niall had swallowed at that, because it was still a bit suffocating, how much Harry and his family cared for Niall, for no reason. Liam, too. The both of them were just _there_ , when Niall needed them. And he’d be the same for them both.

“Yeah, if you want me,” Niall had answered. “I think I make enough at the shop to get my own place, though, if I could find someone to rent to me.”

Harry made a strangled sound at that. “No way, it’s our last year before we go off to Uni. You’re supposed to spend it slacking off while your parents clean your room and cook you dinner.”

Niall laughed at that, and pointed out that, “You’ll probably find a way to get your mum to still do that while you’re at Uni.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed.

They’d all already sent out their University applications. Liam had been a nervous wreck over the whole thing, while Harry tried to play it cool and spent the week cranking some kind of music with a deafening techno beat. Niall, on the other hand, really wasn’t nervous. He had no idea why. Maybe it was because, Uni or not, he was happy. Almost completely happy, as long as he didn’t think about his mum, or the way she’d brush his hair off his forehead and kiss him above the eyes.

The day that they set to head out to Harry’s mum’s, though, Niall did get nervous, mostly because he realized that everything that made his life happy at the moment was probably going to crumble around him. He heard Harry talk about his sister enough to know that they were exceptionally close. Apparently, she annoyed the ever living hell out of Harry, but Harry loved her anyways.

And he still texted Gemma, and they spoke on the phone three times a week. Niall couldn’t find it in himself to stop the communications, or to admit to anyone what was going on. He decided to just play dumb with the whole thing. If Gemma didn’t figure out who he was, then maybe he could pretend that he hadn’t put the pieces together, too.

He hadn’t really met Harry’s mum, yet. Harry had admitted that he and Niall had been invited to countless dinners, but one of their schedules, or one of Harry’s moods -- the ones where he hates literally everyone, except maybe Niall and Liam, and sometimes Louis is allowed in that little exclusive group too, not that Harry would admit it-- had stopped them from happening.

Niall was not prepared. There’s the fact that Harry’s mum is hot, like, really hot. Which he does not notice, because he’s a great friend. There was also the fact that Harry’s mum and Gemma looked strikingly alike, too. But that wasn’t what really threw him. It was the arms that she’d instantly wrapped around his waist before she pulled him and Harry into the house by the straps of the bags that they were carrying.

“Finally,” Anne said, rolling her eyes over her shoulder at her son. “Been telling this one to bring you along for ages,” she added to Niall. “I’ve heard a lot about you, both from Harry and his father.”

Harry missed a step in his walk, but Anne didn’t notice. “You’re talking to him again, then?” Harry asked.

Harry’s mum gave him a look as she carted them into the kitchen and then released their bags. “Yes, Harry, I’m talking to him again. He’s getting married, not committing murder. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s perfectly allowed to marry whoever he wants.”

Harry made an annoyed sound at that but apparently chose not to comment, which Niall was kind of grateful for. “I like your house,” Niall blurted. “I mean, um, it feels like a home.”

Anne grinned fondly at him. “Nothing spectacular like John’s, but people in this house actually cook, instead of ordering everything from a restaurant.”

“Thank _G_ _od_ ,” Harry groaned, throwing himself into one of the chairs. Niall followed him, taking in his best mate’s posture. Harry was different here than he was at his dad’s. This was his home, really. He didn’t look a bit awkward, or out of place, because he wasn’t. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m almost sick of takeaway. Almost.”

“Your sister said the same thing,” Anne said while fixing drinks.

“She not here yet?” Harry questioned.

“She’ll be here in a bit, she had some things to do,” Anne explained before setting a steaming cup of tea in front of both Harry and Niall, along with a sandwich for each of them.

Niall was just adding a bit of milk to his tea when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, eyes quickly scanning the message.

_Same place as last time? I’m in town, and I can put off going home for an hour or so-- G_

Niall groaned and Harry raised his eyebrow. “That your mystery woman?” he asked.

“Mystery woman?” Anne questioned, sliding into the seat beside Niall, her own cup in hand.

Harry grinned at his mum. “Niall’s completely infatuated. You should see him every time she texts -- and you can _tell_ it’s her, because he reads the message like three times before grinning and sending something back-- it’s completely ridiculous.”

“That’s lovely,” Anne told Niall. “What about you?” She demanded, turning to her son, and Niall was grateful. He quickly texted Gemma back, feeling exceptionally guilty while he did so, telling her that he couldn’t, he was having dinner with his best mate’s mum. “You finally found a nice girl or boy yet? Someone to break you of your wild ways?”

“Nope,” Harry said proudly. “I’m still a mischievous prick, don’t worry.”

“Watch your mouth,” Anne scolded, but Niall didn’t miss the way her lips curved upwards as she sipped her drink. “Oh, there she is,” Anne said, as the sound of a car pulling up made its way through the house. “Your sister’s always late, I swear. One of these days I’m buying her a watch and having it stapled to her forehead.”

“I really can’t see how that would be productive,” Harry pointed out.

“Shush.”

“I swear to god,” Gemma’s voice proceeded her into the house. “If he wasn’t so cute, or maybe it’s the accent, I don’t know, but I _should_ be upset. And yet, I’m really no--,”

Gemma stepped into the kitchen, and her eyes met Niall’s. She faltered mid step for a bit, and Niall sucked in a deep breath, ready to rattle of some kind of an explanation.

“Not,” Gemma finished, face composed again. “I think it’s the lips, actually,” she said, striding into the room to press a kiss to Harry’s head, and then to do the same to Anne. “They’re sinful, I swear.”

Niall felt his cheeks grow hot while Harry made a gagging sound.

“And you are?” Gemma asked, raising her eyebrows.

Niall cleared his throat. “I’m Niall, I’m, uh--,”

“Replacing you,” Harry cut in. “We’re giving him your room. In fact, I’ve already cut you out of all the family photos and replaced your head with a picture of his.”

“Wanker,” Gemma told him. “Where’s my drink, mum?”

“Maybe if you weren’t late, I’d have made you one.”

And that’s how the rest of the evening went. There was playful banter, and _really_ good food. Some of the conversations were a bit awkward, like when Gemma brought up John’s wedding to who Gemma referred to as, “That flighty thing with an IQ lower than Harry’s shoe size.”

He wasn’t sure what Gemma was playing at, but then again, she could be thinking the same thing about him. Neither of them brought up their past, and except for that first moment, when she’d walked in, they’d been nothing but polite to each other, almost as if they really had just met.

Really, he was the innocent party involved, because when he got up a bit after dinner, while they were watching some show that Harry detested and Gemma and Anne had forced them into, he really only had the intentions of going to the bathroom. Which he did. And when he opened the door to walk out of it, a hand covered his mouth while he met Gemma’s eyes. She kept her hand over his mouth, while she held up her other hand to her face, index finger covering her mouth, signalling for him to be quiet as she stepped closer, giving him no choice but to step back into the room.

The door closed behind them and Gemma reached over to run the water. The second the noise filled the bathroom, she hissed, “What is the matter with you?”

The thing he’d learned about Gemma very quickly was that she was a force to be reckoned with. He’d never really had that directed at him before, though, and now that he had, he couldn’t do anything but hold up his hands in surrender.

“How long have you known?” she demanded.

Niall scratched the back of his neck. “Since that night,” he answered, deciding for honesty. “I mean, I figured. It was too coincidental. I didn’t know at the time, though,” he added quickly.

“Would you take it all back, if you had?” Gemma asked, expression unreadable.

Niall really wanted to grab her hand. In fact, after that first meeting, he’d done much else but think about seeing her again, kissing her again, finding out if she always tasted sweet, or it that was just because of her mocha.

“No,” he said slowly. “And that makes me a prick, as well as a really shit friend, but no.”

And then she kissed him, hard and quick, her hands fisting in his hair. Before he could wrap his arms all the way around her, she pulled back, turned off the water, and was out the door, tossing a cheeky grin over her shoulder.

When he got back into the living room, Gemma wasn’t in there. Niall didn’t comment.

“You fall in or something?” Harry hissed at him. “You left me alone with this stupid show.”

Niall tried to laugh. “Or something.”

Harry rolled his eyes and groaned, “Can we _please_ watch something else?”

When Gemma finally came back into the room, Niall tried not to look at her, while also trying not to look like he was pointedly ignoring her, too. It was hard. And he felt extremely guilty. And he also wanted wondered when he’d get to kiss her again.

He was so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to get this chapter up yesterday, but I ended up posting a different Ziam fic. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! Also, warning, next chapter is a bit shorter than the others (it's only 6k words long) but the one right after that is extra long (it's about 17k and it's SUPER fluffy -- and you're going to get the first Larry kiss-- so I hope that makes up for it, and the amount of ANGST wow. I didn't mean for this fic to have so much angst, but it happened anyways). 
> 
> ANYWHO. THANK YOU FOR READING AND COMMENTING. YOU GUYS ARE SO LOVELY I WANT TO CRY. (and yes, it was necessary for that to be in all caps, okay)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short (and late D:) but the next one is the longest one I've written for this fic, so I hope that makes up for it. :D

**Louis**

He had it all planned out perfectly, because he’s Louis fucking Tomlinson, and that’s just how he is. His sisters were due home two days after the party, which meant he could spend the day after nursing a terrible hangover while the cleaners worked their magic. He’d already got them booked, as well as the DJ and the catering.

Except no matter how well he planned everything, no matter how carefully he ordered everything, put it all in its place, people were always a variable. You could never count on them to do absolutely everything you need. And the DJ cancelled at the last minute.

The issue, of course, is that the DJ is, like, really fucking important, and it’s too close to Christmas, too many people are having parties, and he’d booked the DJ weeks in advanced, because he _knew_ he wouldn’t get one if he waited. And he also knew, now, that there was now way to find a replacement.

Except Louis’ life is a romantic comedy, obviously, and he’s the butt of all the jokes, because he mentioned this issue to Zayn, and Zayn mentioned that Harry actually knew how to operate a turn table.

“How do you even know that?” Louis demanded when Zayn brought it up. They were sitting in Zayn’s apartment, only because Zayn didn’t want to take the bus up to Louis’, and Louis didn’t see any point to go to Zayn’s building just to drive back to his own home, when he could just stay at Zayn’s.

Zayn shrugged, that carefully composed look on his face that he’d taken to wearing lately. “Because he mentioned it that night you got fucked off your arse and fell asleep with your head in his lap.”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “You mean the same night you hooked up with dear, sweet, innocent Liam?”

“Don’t,” Zayn warned, lifting a hand. “Don’t make it sound like it’s something, because it’s not. ”

Louis snorted. “Really? So then what is it, exactly?”

“Nothing,” Zayn had said with real conviction. “I just wanted to see what he’d look like while I sucked him off.”

Louis made a face at that. “That’s got to be one of the weirdest, creepiest things I’ve ever heard you say.”

“It’s really not,” Zayn assured him, and his lips quirked up just a bit, only on the one side. It was like he wasn’t with Louis anymore, but instead somewhere else. “You should have see him, Louis. I swear, it’s like he was fucking surprised every time I touched him, and it’s like--,” he took a hall off his cigarette, “it’s fucking beautiful.”

Louis gave him a pointed look. “But it’s nothing.”

“It’s nothing,” Zayn repeated.

And after that, and a few hits off a joint, Louis forgot all about the original conversation, until he got home and remembered all the details he still had to work out for his party. And, in the end, he’d resorted to doing the one thing he didn’t want to; he called Harry.

After that day when they’d celebrated Louis’ play being chosen to be showcased by the school, Louis hadn’t known what to do around Harry. He was very, very aware of the fact that he’d been more than a little flirty with Harry. In fact, he’d waken up with his head in Harry’s lap, Harry’s hand in his hair, still asleep. Like he’d fallen asleep like that, brushing Louis’ hair off his face gently. It made Louis want to squirm just thinking about it.

And since then, he’d done his best to avoid Harry as much as possible, and found himself looking forward to the day when Harry went back to live with his mum, and would be far, far away from Louis. He was done having Harry Styles butting his way into Louis’ life, even if Harry didn’t mean to do it, or wasn’t aware that he was.

Harry picked up almost immediately and that only made Louis want to sink farther into his mattress, where he lay with his phone pressed to his ear, his eyes squeezed closed. “Louis,” Harry said, and Louis tried really, really hard to ignore the fact that he sounded extremely fucking pleased, like Louis calling him was making his entire day. “Hey.”

“I need a favour,” Louis said quickly.

“Whatever you need, Lou,” Harry agreed instantly.

Louis resisted the urge to grab his pillow, shove it into his face, and scream as loud as he could. “Great,” Louis said flatly. “Anyways, Zayn told me that you’d said that--,”

“Speaking of,” Harry said, cutting him off. Louis made an annoyed sound. This was supposed to be a quick conversation. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, but I don’t promise to answer, and even if I do, I can’t promise that it will be the truth.”

Harry was silent on the other end for a moment, and Louis could hear music playing faintly on his end, in the background, and he wondered if Harry was in the same position as Louis, laying in his bed and staring at the ceiling.

“I guess I’ll have to deal with that,” Harry said finally. “It’s about Zayn. And Liam.”

Louis moaned into the phone. “Please don’t,” he said. “Harry, please don’t put me in this position, because I know what you’re going to ask, and he’s my best mate, but I really don’t want to have to go there. Okay?”

“He’s going to break his heart, isn’t he?” Harry guessed.

Louis’ fingers tightened their grip on his phone. “How could he? It’s not like they’re dating. In fact, according to Zayn, they’re ‘nothing’.”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. “Bastard,” Harry cursed. “I swear to god, I’m going to shove my shoe so far up his ass he’ll be spitting out my laces--,”

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis hissed.

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry hissed right back. “Does anyone in the entire world give a single shit about anyone else, or are we all just here to fuck each other over?”

The phone line went dead, and Louis stared at his phone blankly, mouth opened in shock. No one hung up on him. Ever.

A few moments later, he distinctly heard the sound of a door slam, and then the screech of car tires on asphalt coming through his open window. He didn’t need to look outside to know that it was Harry, storming out of his house and driving off.

Louis had his party the day after Harry moved back in with his mum for the hols. Niall was gone with him, but Louis had sent an invitation, over text, to Niall for both him and Harry. And he somehow managed to find another DJ at the last minute, though he was forking out way too much money for him. Sadly, it couldn’t be helped.

Louis looked around his house, a bright smile on his face. Zayn wasn’t there yet, but that was typical. Zayn had to be fashionably late to everything. Eleanor, on the other hand, had arrived exactly on time, dressed in a short black mini dress that should have had something stirring inside of Louis, and yet, it didn’t. It didn’t at all, even though he’d noticed more than a few of his male guests looking at her later on that night.

The living room was lit up in gold and silver lights. He refused to make his party Christmassy. It was bad enough that people tended to get him Christmas related gifts. His birthday was _his_ day, and he refused to share it with something as common as Christmas.

There was a buffet in the basement with an assortment of every type of h’orderve that Louis could think of, as well as an assortment of drinks. Of course, those drinks would be used to chase numerous different kinds of alcohol, though Louis refused to provide that.

The DJ booth was set up in the living room, and soft music was already playing from it, something recorded so that the DJ could finish getting the rest of his stuff ready.

Louis himself was in a simple pair of black dress pants with a white dress shirt and a gold tie. His hair was styled in his signature flyaway look, and he’s ran a bit of glitter flecked gel through it, so it shone with gold when the light hit it right.

Things started out slow, as they were prone to do. Every party was awkward when the first couple of guests arrived. However, 90% of those guests were carrying presents for him -- which were instantly carted off to be put on the kitchen table--, so Louis wasn’t complaining.

By the time he spotted someone he actually wanted to see, the party was in full swing. Niall embraced him with a quick, “Happy early birthday. My presents kind of shit, but you’re kind of rich, so I didn’t even know what to get you that you wouldn’t already have.”

“Where’s Harry?” Louis asked, taking the wrapped box from Niall’s hand.

“Um,” Niall bit his lip. “He’s still outside. I think he intercepted Zayn on his way in here.”

Louis groaned loudly and passed the present back to Niall. “Put this in the kitchen, would you? I’m going to go stop a potential blood bath.”

Niall frowned. “You think Harry’s going to hit him?” Niall asked, and Louis didn’t like the way his expression brightened. “Fuck that, I’m coming to see that prick get what he deserves.”

“Not you too,” Louis groaned, heading towards the door.

Out front, there were numerous cars parked along the street. He could see Harry’s, conveniently parked in his dad’s driveway, looking more worn and rusted than any of the cars that belonged to Louis’ other guests.

There were people on his lawn, too, some chatting, some heading in towards the house. They spared him a greeting, or a calling of ‘Happy birthday!’ that Louis didn’t even bother to correct, because he really doubted they’d care that it wasn’t technically his birthday. And he was too busy heading towards the two boys locked in a heated argument.

“Boys!” Louis said loudly, sliding up beside Zayn. Niall took the spot beside Harry, and Louis felt suddenly like two different sides heading off to war, and Niall and he had obviously chosen who they’d stand with, if it really came down to something.

“You realize Liam’s adult enough to of known what he was getting into, yeah?” Zayn demanded, he and Harry both ignoring Niall and Louis’ presence.

“You could have at least talked to him afterwards,” Harry spat at him. Louis had never seen Harry like that, eyes bright but with anger instead of suppressed mischief; hair matted to his forehead with sweat, even though the December air was cold; hands clenched into fists. “He _defends_ you,” Harry said angrily, shaking his head. “Do you know that? ‘Oh, you can’t really blame Zayn,’” Harry mocked Liam’s lilting tone. “‘Can’t really blame him, can you? It’s not like he said he’d be my boyfriend. Hell, I wouldn’t date me either.’”

Louis didn’t react fast enough, and Zayn roughly pushed on Harry’s shoulders. Harry stumbled backwards before going at Zayn but, thankfully, Niall _did_ react fast enough, grabbing Harry’s arms before he could retaliate. 

“I didn’t force him into anything,” Zayn snapped at Harry.

Louis looked between them, distressed. He was standing out on his front law, late in December, for Christ’s sake, on the day of his birthday party no less, watching his best mate argue with someone. He was going to slaughter them all.

“Fuck this,” Zayn muttered, taking a step back. “I need a drink,” he added as he headed towards the house.

Louis watched him walk away, not really feeling up to playing the consoling friend at that moment. He knew it was selfish, but he also knew that Harry sort of had a right, getting protective of Liam. He would deal with Zayn tomorrow.

Liam took that moment to come up to them with a bright, cheerful smile on his face. “Sorry about that,” Liam said quickly. “I was talking to your dad, Harry, and…,” Liam trailed off, looking between Harry and Niall, who only then released Harry’s arms, letting him go. He frowned. “Everything okay?”

“Absolutely,” Harry said dryly. “Can we go in now?”

Liam shrugged and looked at Louis. “Happy early birthday,” he said, holding out a small wrapped presents. “I didn’t really know what to get you, but--,”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Louis said quickly, taking the present. “Inside now, yeah? Before I freeze my arse off.”

“That would be a shame,” Harry said solemnly.

Louis ignored him and headed into the house. He took Liam’s present, and Niall’s, into the kitchen.

When he turned around, a pair of hands instantly went around his waist, and Louis froze until Harry grinned at him and slid something hard and flat into his back pocket. He didn’t have to look to know that it was a CD case. Then, he tugged a bright red and white Santa hat onto Louis’ head and playfully swatted at the white cotton ball on top.

“Happy early birthday, Lou,” Harry said slowly, before stepping away from him and heading into the thick of the party. Louis watched him go before pulling the CD out of his back pocket. There was something wrong with him, had to be, because at that moment, he really just wanted to sneak off and listen to it.

He wished he could say that the party was a good one, but after that, he didn’t really remember much. He drank a bit, smoked a joint outside with Zayn, and Eleanor had pressed a tiny little pink pill to the tip of his tongue, giggling while she swallowed her own.

The only thing he did remember was a pair of arms carrying him up the stairs to his bed, and then that same someone brushing the hair off his forehead before kissing it and then leaving.

Christmas morning was wonderful. He woke up to more than one body in his bed, one person tugging on his comforter, another jumping on the bed beside him. “Get your lazy ass up,” someone hissed, and another one giggled.

Louis sat up in a flash, grabbing his nearest sister by the waist. “If you two don’t stop I’m sacrificing you to the Christmas gods so that I can get better presents.”

“There’s no such thing, Louis.”

“You’re _weird_.”

Louis rolled his eyes and put his sister back on the ground before getting out of bed. The next hour or so was a flurry of tea and wrapping paper. Louis’ parents had gotten him some clothes, a new footie, and then his mother produced two pieces of coloured cardboard.

They were invitations to a party in London, a big New Years Eve bash that, apparently, his parents had been invited to, but decided to cancel on the last minute. Louis thanked them and then discreetly poured two shots of Vodka into his glass.

After that, his mother made breakfast-- or she’d picked up a premade meal the night before and warmed it up before putting it on plates-- and they all curled up in the living room, watching the telly.

He couldn’t remember which of his sisters demanded to watch one of their shows, but his father grudgingly agreed to it. It was a programme that Louis vaguely recognized and had hated, personally. His father indulged his sisters whenever he could, though, so he allowed it.

Until two of the characters starting kissing. Two _male_ characters. He switched the channel quickly, much to the complaints of his sisters. “Faggots,” his father murmured. “I won’t have you watching that. It’s not right. Any man who thinks he likes other men just hasn’t met the right woman yet. Right, Lou?”

Louis stared at him, the food in his stomach suddenly feeling like a brick, hard and sharp and heavy. “Right,” Louis agreed with a roll of his eyes.

A bit later, his dad asked if he was going to be seeing Eleanor to give her the gift that he’d gotten her. It was a pair of gorgeous heels that he’d seen her eying the last time they’d went out to the mall. He hadn’t planned to see her that day, had decided to just wait until the day after, but he nodded, and an hour or so later, he went upstairs and called her.

Eleanor showed up a bit later, decked in a new coat and an entirely brand new outfit. Louis gave her the shoes, she gave him a pristine white football uniform that read ‘Tommo’ on the back. After Eleanor seeing the girls for a bit, the two of them went upstairs.

He couldn’t help it, his father’s words echoed in his mind. Any man who liked other men just hadn’t met the right girl yet. Well, he’d met the perfect girl. Eleanor was everything he could look for in a partner.

Louis kissed her, hard, and Eleanor giggled. “Your parents are downstairs.”

“That’s the fun in it, yeah?” Louis said, leading her to the bed. “The thrill of getting caught.”

He cupped her breasts and Eleanor leaned into the touch, her fingers tangling in his hair. “Come on, Lou,” she said against his mouth. “Quick, before someone comes upstairs.”

Louis nodded, reaching under his bed for the box of condoms he kept under there. He pushed up Eleanor’s dress, and Eleanor fumbled for the buckle on his belt before getting it off and undoing his pants. This part, he did enjoy. The sex. The feel of another person beneath him, no matter who it was. Eleanor smelled like vanilla and nail polish, and she roughly scratched at his back as he pushed into her before completely overlapping her body with his own.

The next fifteen minutes were a blur of panting, slick skin, and the word faggot playing on repeat in his mind.

Later that night, while his sisters slept and his parents went out to a Christmas night party, Louis found himself in his room, his new CD playing. He had a bottle of wine in his hand. Okay, a half empty bottle of wine.

His eyes landed on the present from El, and he picked it up before putting it back down on top of his dresser. He sank down onto the end of his bed and pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes for a moment, wondering why the fuck _this_ would be the thing that made him want to cry.

And then once the tears started, it was like they couldn’t stop. He should have known not to drink wine. Normally, wine made him a bubbly drunk, but when he was already down it tended to make him a blubbering, crying idiot. Wine would be his downfall one day, he decided, before digging into his pants to pull out his phone.

He wanted to call Eleanor and talk to her. He wanted to call Zayn, too, because Zayn would understand, and Zayn also probably needed someone, at that moment. But he couldn’t cry to Eleanor, and he didn’t think Zayn would appreciate Louis’ pity party given his circumstances, so he brought up another contact and hit the talk button.

“Louis!” Harry said loudly after the second ring. “I’m glad you called! Merry, merry Christmas, you attractive prick!”

Louis frowned. “Are you drunk?”

“Bit, yeah,” Harry admitted.

Louis heard, in the background, a loud, “That Louis? Tell him I said Merry Christmas!” shouted by Niall.

Harry still hadn’t spoken again yet, but suddenly all the background noise cut out and the other end was silent. Louis thought he’d hung up, until Harry spoke.

“Are you crying?”

“God,” Louis gasped, shaking his head. “No, I’m not.”

“Lou….”

“I’m not,” Louis lied. “Anyways, I just-- I wanted to ask…”

“Ask away,” Harry told him, and Louis felt that ball in his stomach tighten worse.

“Remember when you asked me if I wanted to do something fun?” Louis asked.

Harry chuckled. “Obviously. We went pool hopping. It was a very memorable experience.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed, closing his eyes. “Harry, can we do that again?”

Harry was quiet for a moment. “Cancel all your New Years plans,” Harry told him. “All of them. I’ll pick you up early.”

“What?” Louis squeaked. “But New Years is the biggest party day of the year, I can’t clear my _whole_ \--,”

Harry made a low sound, and Louis quieted. “Be ready early,” he repeated. “Goodbye, Lou. Happy holidays.”

Louis hung up the phone and stayed in bed for a long time like that, phone still in one hand, bottle of wine in the other, eyes closed, music playing softly in the background. He fell asleep like that, too, wine spilling all over his mattress. He didn’t even notice.

 

* * *

 

**Liam**

Liam knew he’d missed something important when he’d walked up to Harry, Niall and Louis at Louis’ party. He also knew that whatever it was, apparently no one was going to tell him. Liam didn’t really mind, honestly. It was Louis’ party, he’d let it go, not make a big deal of it.

He got Louis a pack of foosballs and a box of chocolates. He couldn’t think of anything else, and he was rubbish at picking out presents.

Harry disappeared with Louis after he gave Louis his present, and then Niall carted him off through the party and began introducing him to people. Liam was polite but uncomfortable. He was out of his element, not used to talking to so many strange faces at once, and he only remembered a few of their names.

He was almost grateful when Niall went off to use the bathroom, except he was alone after that, and he didn’t know what to do. He ended up downstairs, looking for something to drink that _didn’t_ smell strongly of alcohol.

He’d been leaning over the edge of the table, close to a wall to avoid bumping into anyone else, when a pair of arms went around his waist from behind. “Didn’t know you were here,” Zayn said in his ear.

Liam turned around, a frown on his face, to find Zayn grinning back at him. It wasn’t a smirk, either, but a genuine, wide grin. It was _that_  which told Liam he was drunk; the completely uninhibited and open joy on Zayn’s face. The smell of alcohol wafting off him was just further proof.

“Hi,” Liam said quietly, taking a step back. His back hit the wall but Zayn’s arms were no longer around him, so he took that for a win.

He wasn’t mad at Zayn. He really, really wasn’t. He hadn’t been lying when he told Harry that he was fine, that he hadn’t expected anything from Zayn. In fact, he was the one stupid enough to hook up with a boy he really didn’t know, when it came down to it, and who had already hurt him a bit in the past.

He’d dealt with it. He’d been devastated by the fact that Zayn hadn’t talked to him within the first week. Got a little mad during the second week. But since then, he’d mostly just gotten over it. In fact, he knew that he should have expected it, really.

“Dance with me?” Zayn said suddenly, grabbing his hand. “Or,” he leaned in and whispered hotly in Liam’s ear, “we can sneak up to Louis’ room, lock the door, and have our own party.”

Part of him really, really wanted to say yes. He knew it was stupid, but then again, when it came to Zayn, Liam _was_ stupid. But then his eyes went to Zayn’s perfectly styled hair, and it _wasn’t_ perfectly styled. It was mused a bit on one side, too random to be on purpose, almost like someone had… ran their hands through it.

And then Liam looked back down at Zayn’s smile, noticed the smudged red lipstick on his top lip and around his mouth, and Liam closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply.

It was one thing to not have Zayn call him back, and knowing that it hadn’t really meant much to him, when it had meant way too much to Liam. But it was a complete other thing to see solid proof that, really, Liam wasn’t anything to Zayn at all. There were other people, others he’d hook up with, call beautiful, make feel special for the night before dropping the next day.

Liam reached up and cupped Zayn’s face, and Zayn looked at him with a kind of adoration in his eyes that made Liam feel sick. His thumb gently ran over Zayn’s top lip, and Zayn’s tongue snaked out to lick it with a wicked look in his eyes. Liam moved his finger to just above Zayn’s lip.

“You’ve got lipstick on your mouth,” Liam told him, before pushing away from the wall, and from Zayn.

Harry called his name at that moment, and Liam was grateful for a reason to run away. He couldn’t help but throw one last look over his shoulder at Zayn, though, and he found him in the same spot Liam had just been, but he’d fallen down the wall. His legs were pulled up to his chest and he had his hands in his own hair, while he stared blankly at the ground.

Liam tried not to think about it.

The rest of the party was pretty much an uncomfortable blur of faces and sweet smelling alcohol and Niall’s laughter in his ear and Harry asking, “Louis’ got a great bum, hasn’t he?”

When they left, Liam was grateful.

On Christmas, he tried to sleep in a bit but couldn’t, and he ended up going for an early morning run through the cold and the snow. He didn’t mind. He ran too fast for the cold to catch him, and when he did stop, the ache of the weather was a good distraction to everything else.

His parents got him a car. It was still at the dealership, because his mum said it wouldn’t be a surprise if he’d seen it in the driveway. It was a small, used, rusted red thing, but it worked, and Liam was honestly shocked. He’d never had such an extravagant gift in his life. Of course, he’d always wanted a car, but he couldn’t ask his parents for one, and between school work and rugby, he didn’t have time to have a job of his own.

“Of course, you’ll have to keep up your grades,” his father told him as he handed over the keys. “And if you don’t get that scholarship, we’re returning the car.”

Liam nodded, unable to hold in his grin. He called Harry not long after, and Harry had congratulated him and went on about the stereo system for his car his dad got him, and the absolutely hideous jumper his mum had gotten Niall. He also invited Liam over later on in the day for dinner and a drink. Liam declined, choosing instead to stay home with his parents.

His father questioned him over and over about his life, claiming that Liam wasn’t home enough anymore.

“Spending too much with that Styles boy,” his father had said, shaking his head.

Liam wondered what kind of gasket his father would blow if he knew that Harry was actually tame compared to Zayn, the guy who had given him his first joint and then blowjob at one in the morning after their friend’s passed out downstairs. He wasn’t bold enough to actually say any of that to him, though,. Or anyone, really, and the only reason Harry knew was because Harry was pushy, and he knew that Liam had a soft spot for sugary tea and chocolate glazed donuts, both of which he’d shown up to Liam’s house with during that first week, when he hadn’t answered anyone else’s calls.

They had a nice, home cooked dinner. His mum made his dad’s favourite spaghetti, and then the two of them curled up on the couch together, wrapped up in each other. Liam sat on the loveseat, trying not to bother them.

He found himself staring out the window most of the time, though, wondering if he was ever going to stop trying to be good enough for everyone else.

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

He couldn’t remember her name, or even what she looked like. All Zayn had known was that he was drunk out of his mind, she’d been relatively attractive and willing, and he was ready to fuck around with anyone that didn’t remind him of Liam. And her soft, small hands definitely did not remind him of Liam.

So he kissed her, and they danced, and then Zayn had gotten bored and ducked away. He’d thought hiding in the basement was a good idea, until he’d seen Liam. And then, it was like he couldn’t help himself, and the amount of alcohol in his system really didn’t help. He’d went over, words slipping from his mouth without him even meaning to say them, a bright grin on his face.

Liam had just pushed him away. Zayn could still feel the slight warmth from where Liam’s fingers had touched him as he sank down the wall and put his head in his hands. He shouldn’t have gotten drunk, he knew, but after the fight with Harry it had seemed like the only logical thing to do.

Why Louis invited Liam without telling him, he didn’t know. Louis was evil. It was the only explanation. That, and he probably had some twisted idea that Zayn _wanted_ to see Liam. He didn’t. He really, really didn’t. It was always awkward seeing someone you hooked up with and then didn’t talk to again afterwards.

After a few minutes of thinking and feeling like utter shit, Zayn stood up and grabbed another drink off the table, adding a bit of his own alcohol too it. He ended up taking home a different girl that night, one with long, soft red hair and a body that wasn’t at all muscular underneath his own.

He forgot all about Liam, and the taste of his skin and the feel of his fingers or the way he looked at Zayn like there was something more there than there actually was. Until he fell asleep, dreaming of boys with brown eyes.

He didn’t wake up on Christmas morning. Or Christmas afternoon. When he finally pulled himself out of bed, it was already turning dark again, snow falling outside the window. He had two gifts, one from Louis -- he hadn’t opened it yet, and he wouldn’t for a long time-- and then the one from himself. He opened the large bottle of amber coloured rum and sipped it straight while sitting in the dark of his quiet apartment.

He couldn’t force himself to turn on the television, because he knew it would be all Christmas specials; he couldn’t turn on the radio, either, because _that_ would be filled with Christmas spirit, too. So he drank and sat in silence.

Christmas was like valentines day. It was designed to make the lonely feel more lonely, except it wasn’t about the lack of significant others in his life, it was about the lack of _anyone_.

He probably should have eaten something, but the thought of touching anything edible right then made him want to throw up. Or maybe that was the rum, because he found himself running to the toilet anyways, hunching over and retching up nothing but liquid.

Afterwards, he leaned against the side of the tub and pulled his phone out of his pants. He’d found the number in the phonebook over a year ago, and had programmed it into his phone. He hadn’t bothered trying to call them, though. There would be no point.

Right then, though, he felt like there was. Like he needed to blame someone for his life. Wanted to let them all know just how much they fucked him over. Because they did. They ruined everything in his life. They ruined _him_. And it wasn’t _fair_.

That’s what he planned to say. When a soft, feminine voice answered and said, “Happy holidays, may I ask who’s calling?” all those words slipped away.

Zayn found himself holding the phone to his ear with one hand while covering his face with the other as he choked back a sob. “I just… I just don’t understand why you couldn’t have loved me like you were supposed to,” Zayn said quietly.

The other end of the phone was silent for a minute, but he could hear the soft inhales and exhales of her breathing. And then the line went dead and Zayn threw his phone at the wall.

 

* * *

 

**Harry**

He’d been pretty wasted by the time Louis had called, and Harry could barely remember what he’d said, so he went straight upstairs and scribbled, in huge, neat letters onto the wall of his door, ‘ _Louis-- New Years-- fun_ ’.

When he got back downstairs, his mum and Gemma were singing on the karaoke machine his mum had gotten Gemma as a joke. They were doing a horrible rendition of Beyonce’s Single Ladies, and Harry laughed before swiping the bottle of wine off the table.

“Enough, Harry,” his mum warned.

Harry groaned. “Come on, mum, it’s Christmas!”

“Exactly,” she said, putting a hand on her hip. “If you throw up all over the Christmas tree, like last year--,”

“You did that?” Niall asked, lips pursed in a thin line as he tried to keep from laughing.

“I’ll have you know,” Harry said, pointing the bottle at Niall, “that I did it in a very dignified way.”

Niall snorted and Gemma said, “He fell into it afterwards. Had to throw out the jumper he’d been wearing. The smell wouldn’t come out.”

“Actually, maybe you should do that this year,” Harry said to Niall. “That has got to be the _ugliest_ jumper I’ve ever seen.”

“I like it,” Niall said quickly, because Harry’s mum had gotten it for him, and she was in the room.

Harry had grinned when Niall opened it and pulled it on right away. The bright green reindeer on the front was almost more frightening than funny to look at, and it’s nose glowed bright red. Harry had poked it multiple times throughout the day.

Harry himself had _bought_ Niall a CD - as apposed to the one he’d _made_ for Louis- and had also gotten him a new snapback. Niall got him a bulk set of blank CDs, and Harry had almost cried. Almost.

It was a good Christmas, and Harry realized that next year Niall probably wouldn’t be there, and that seemed… wrong. Niall fit too well in their family; he didn’t get weird when Harry’s mum broke out the wine and they’d all started singing, he didn’t care if dinner had been burnt around the edges, or that none of them had woken up until after two in the afternoon. He just went with it.

“You’re awesome, you know that?” Harry said suddenly, slinging an arm around Niall’s shoulder. “Isn’t he awesome?”

Gemma looked up, a grin on her face. “And a few other adjectives.”

Harry frowned at her, and then reached down to pick up a biscuit to throw at her. “No,” he said. “Bad Gemma. Don’t even think about it.”

Niall turned red in Harry’s arm, and Gemma narrowed her eyes.

“When I was, like, eleven, all my friends had crushes on her. It was creepy.”

“It’s not my fault that your friends were revolting,” Gemma told him. “It’s good to see your taste has improved, a bit.”

Niall grinned. “A bit?”

“I was referring to Liam,” Gemma told him.

“Ah, Liam,” Harry said, sighing and sinking down onto the couch. “We should call him.”

“And say what?” Niall asked, falling onto the couch at the same time as Harry.

“Tell him we love him,” Harry said slowly. “We should call Louis back, too. Let him know. Any maybe I should apologize to Zayn for threatening to shove my shoe so far up his arse that he coughed up my laces,” Harry added solemnly.

“You’re very apologetic when you’re drunk,” Niall commented, but he was already pulling out his phone, dialling Liam’s number. “Liam!” he said loudly when the other boy answered.

Harry leaned over and put his mouth beside Niall’s and said into the phone, “Love you, Liam! You rock, don’t ever change, love. Gotta go and call Louis now.”

Niall laughed as they hung up, and then they dialled Louis’ number. When he answered, his voice was more slurred than even Harry’s was, and Niall and Harry both just shouted, “Happy Christmas!” and Louis mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like ‘eat my dick, you pricks’.

“Can you give us Zayn’s number?” Niall asked.

Louis rattled off a number and then said, very sleepily, “I have the weirdest dreams when I’m drunk,” and then he hung up.

They called Zayn and got voicemail. Harry tugged the phone out of Niall’s hand and said, “Zayn, I’m sorry for calling you a prick, and for yelling at you, and-- and I don’t remember what else. But Liam loves you, so I guess we sort of love you by default. But if you don’t keep that thing in your pants I’ll rip it off and beat you--,”

“Merry Christmas!” Niall shouted into the phone and then ended the call. “Jesus, do you want him to have us arrested for harassment?”

“I’ll have you arrested for harassment,” Harry said, words spoken even slower than usual due to the amount of wine he’d had. “I’ve seen you staring at my ass.”

Niall gave him a serious, sad look. “You don’t have one, mate.”

Harry stood up, grabbing his backside, and that pretty much set the mood for the rest of the night. By the time Harry crawled into bed, he hadn’t had _too_ much to drink, but was instead in that perfect state of drunk that was nice and enjoyable.

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was that, written in huge, sloppy letters on his door, were the words, ‘Louis New Years FUN!’

Harry grinned and pulled the blanket back around himself, not caring that he was going to have to find some way to get that black marker to wash off eventually.

 

* * *

 

**Niall**

Harry was the first one to pass out, because he was a lightweight and he’d drunken nearly an entire bottle of wine on his own. He’d been in a happy mood when his mum had told him to go to bed, though, and he’d been compliant as Niall helped him up the stairs.

“I’ve got a date with Lou,” Harry whispered conspiratorially.

Niall frowned at him. “Our Lou?”

Harry nodded, smiling softly. “New Years. Promised him we’d have fun. He’s fun, right? I’m fun?”

Niall chuckled. “Yeah, you’re fun,” he agreed.

Last time Niall checked, though, Louis had a girlfriend. The two of them might have New Years plans, but Niall figured that Louis wasn’t considering it a date in the same was Harry was, and that made him feel a bit bad for his friend. Harry pretended not to like Louis, but it was pretty obvious that he did. And Niall wanted him to at least have a chance, but Louis was very straight, apparently.

When Niall got back downstairs, Anne passed him in the hallway and yawned. “Got a date tomorrow,” she admitted, and then froze. “Don’t tell Harry that, please. I want to tell him myself.”

Niall nodded. He wondered if there could be enough secrets in one house to suffocate everyone inside, because he felt kind of like that was possible. It only got worse when he went back into the living room to find Gemma sitting on the couch, lights dimmed, a movie playing on the TV.

Niall swallowed and considered just heading up to bed when she turned. “Sit with me?” she asked hesitantly. “If you like.”

Niall internally groaned and went to sit beside her, because he couldn’t _not_. She was great, and gorgeous, and he had shit willpower when he was sober, let alone halfway on his way to being completely off his ass wasted.

He had no idea what movie they were watching, but he liked it. Gemma laughed at all the right times, when he did, and she was quiet during the parts where he really wanted to listen and pay attention. Somehow, she ended up moving to his end of the couch, curling up beside him with her head on his shoulder.

“You know,” she said softly, “Harry as kind of right. You are awesome.”

Niall looked down at her, grinning. “Awesome enough to maybe make out with?”

Gemma rolled her eyes and settled back into his side for a moment, and just when he’d gotten back into the movie, she surged up and kissed him. He was definitely going to hell, making out with his best mates sister -while he was living with said best mate- on his _couch_ , on Christmas, while he was upstairs sleeping.

And yet, he couldn’t help but hope that maybe Harry wouldn’t mind, and maybe he and Gemma could be more than two people who shared stolen kisses in the dark, or on a busy sidewalk.

It was thanks to her, and Harry’s whole family, really, that he hadn’t really thought about his parents much. Hadn’t thought about how different the holiday would have been if he’d been at home. He knew his parents at least deserved a phone call - or his mum did, anyways- but he couldn’t force himself to do it. He was too happy, and he didn’t want them to bring him down, for once. He just wanted to be happy, and he couldn’t do that with them in his life. That was sad, and it hurt, too, but it was the truth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 things
> 
> 1: this should have been out days ago, but I've been working (obsessively) diligently on a Ziam fic that should be out pretty soon, and I was a bit too distracted constantly working on it to make my lazy ass update this. So it's two days later than I planned, because, while this fic is almost all written (I'm just finishing up chapter eleven, and then I've got to write the prologue), and it's just a matter of uploading it, I am still a sucky person and I kept putting it off.
> 
> 2: this chapter is kind of like a rollarcoaster of fluff and angst. I don't know how that happened. When I started writing it, i was like, OH CHRISTMAS. DECK THE HALLS WITH BALLS OF OTP KISSES AND SWEETNESS. And then I went and got angsty anyways. And I wish I could promise differently for the next chapter, but it's the same, if not more so. There is so much fluff, that is a fact. Like, wow, (there is even a pretty cracky bit of Niall/Gemma) fluff everywhere. It's like someone stabbed a pillow. But then there is also a good helping of angst, a kiss between two couples, and someone gets drunk and tries to climb a statue of a goat. Did I mention it's a New Years chapter? Because it is. 
> 
> (sorry this got really long and I'm sure you guys don't really care but) thanks for reading and leaving reviews! I'm not exaggerating when I say that every single one makes me so happy. :) -- C


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 90% of this chapter is just ridiculousness and fluff... I don't really know how that happened...

**Louis**

He seriously considered cancelling on Harry, he really did. New Years Eve was a busy day, especially for him. He’d been invited to any important party that was being thrown; he had Eleanor breathing down his neck to come with her to one of them. And then there were the tickets from his parents, burning a figurative hole in his pocket.

He should have given El one of the tickets, he knew. They included a bus trip to London, too, not just access to the party. And, Louis’ parents had rented a hotel room for them for the night, so they could take the bus back in the morning.

Except the closer it got to New Years Eve, the less Louis wanted to cancel. Sure, he’d called on Harry in a moment of pathetic desperation, for reasons he still didn’t understand. That didn’t mean that it wouldn’t be a fun night. And, really, he and Harry could be considered friends, right? Friends could spend the first minutes of the new year together. It wasn’t like it was valentines day, for Christ’s sake. It was completely innocent.

So, when he woke up at about nine on New Years Eve with a text from Harry that just had a street name and a house number listed, Louis bit his lip and swung out of bed. He didn’t know what to wear. Did he dress up? Or did he wear something fit to run in, just in case? This was, after all, Harry. God only knew what the hell that boy had planned. Louis was just grateful that he was getting a chance to find out.

He ended up wearing his red skinny jeans and a tight black t-shirt. Nothing too out there, but also nothing too conservative, either. And he could run in the skinny jeans. Possibly.

At the last second he grabbed the tickets from his parents and shoved them into his back pocket, just in case. Harry might not have anything planned at all, and then at least Louis would have something for them to do, instead of just stay home, which would be too painfully pathetic for Louis to handle.

On the drive to Harry’s he played the mixed CD Harry had made for him. The songs were all great, and he wondered, confusedly, how the hell Harry managed to do that. He’d never heard Louis listen to music, had never asked what artists he liked. And yes, the CD did lack songs from literally all of his favourite artists, but he still found himself loving and singing along with each of them after they got stuck in his head and he memorized the lyrics.

When he pulled up in front of what must have been Harry’s house, Louis realized that he very well could be meeting Harry’s mother, and that made him feel weirdly nervous. He checked his hair in the mirror quickly, moving a strand that was out of place back into its proper spot, and then he sucked in a deep breath and headed up the walk of the small but comfortable looking home.

When the door opened, he didn’t expect to see a dishevelled looking Niall, wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants, hair a mess, eyes nearly closed with sleep.

Niall slowly realized who he was staring at, and then his eyes opened a bit more. “Louis?” he asked, frowning. “You realize it’s an ungodly hour, right?”

“It’s twelve in the afternoon.”

“Oh,” Niall raised his eyebrows. “Huh.”

“Is, um, Harry here?”

Niall nodded and shouted Harry’s name and then leaned against the door, not inviting Louis in. “So, Louis,” he said slowly. “What are your intentions with my young Harold?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “I plan to destroy every last piece of his innocence. Hopefully in the back of my car, with a few strippers and enough cocaine to kill a small country.”

“Sounds like fun,” Harry said, appearing behind Niall’s shoulder. “But not exactly what I had planned. You ready to go?”

Louis nodded. “You?”

Harry looked down at himself. “I’m wearing trousers, so I’d say that’s a yes.”

He was. Black ones, and a cream coloured wool sweater on top. Harry grabbed his coat and moved past Niall, who took a step back, and his hand closed around the doorknob, ready to close it between them. At the last second Louis reached out to stop it and dug around in his back pocket.

“Here,” he said, passing the tickets on to Niall. “Bring Liam, or something. I don’t know. I don’t need them. My parents paid for a hotel room, too,” he said, pointing to the name of the hotel on the back of the ticket. “Just text me the number later and I’ll call them and let them know to give you the key to the room when you get there.” He’d stayed at that particular hotel every time he’d been in London, and he knew that the receptionist would do as he said.

Harry looked curiously down at what Louis had handed Niall, and his eyebrows raised. “Damn,” Harry said. “Well, maybe see you in London, then, Niall.”

Louis looked at him. “We’re going to London?”

“Thanks,” Niall breathed quickly as Harry tugged the door closed.

“Yeah,” Harry said, answering him as he headed down the walkway. “You’re going to have to move your car into my lot.”

Louis figured there should have been at least _some_ part of him that was protesting this because, fuck, London was like three hours away. That meant a three hour car drive there, and then one back.

Louis walked over to his car, anyways, while Harry got into his own, pulled out of the space, and then Louis’ moved his car into the now unoccupied place before shutting it down and getting out. Harry waited for him, idling by the side of the road, window rolled down despite the cold weather. Music filtered out through the windows, a song that Louis recognized as being on his own CD.

He slid into the passenger seat and Harry grinned at him once before rolling up his window, cranking the music, and driving off. Louis knew, technically, that they had a destination. Still, it felt like they could be going anywhere, right then. And he didn’t mind at all.

“Can I ask you something?” Louis questioned when they drove past the sign that had the population of their city written on it, as well as a farewell and a, “Hope you come back soon!”

Harry turned down the music. “Sure.”

“Do you, like, Google ‘obscure indie bands’ or something? How the hell do you find all these great artists?”

Harry laughed. “I’m not that much of a prat,” he said. “I just… I don’t know, I guess I spend a lot of time on Youtube looking through the suggested videos, and sometimes you find some really great things in there. And then, like, I’ll listen to a band once, and if their song just touches me, right? You know what I mean? Then I have to download every song they’ve ever done. Sometimes I end up with some pretty shit albums, but sometimes I strike gold.”

“Huh,” Louis said quietly. He could picture Harry in a bedroom decorated with numerous posters, sitting on his bed with headphones in, clicking video after video until his face lights up and he just sits there with that stupidly pleased smile he sometimes has, because a song has touched him.

“That’s what I want to do when I’m older,” Harry admitted, staring straight ahead. “I want to be a producer, or, like, a talent scout. I want to find things that people have never heard before.”

Louis nodded. “You don’t want to make music yourself?”

Harry shook his head. “I like to sing sometimes, but for fun, you know? And I don’t want to write music, because-- if you think about it, there’s a song out there for everyone, right? And I just think that’s too much of a burden to put over my own head. I’d always be striving to write that one song that meant something, and I don’t think I’d ever be satisfied with it.”

“But your satisfied with other people’s music?”

Harry nodded, grinning. “Most of the time, yeah.” They fell into silence again for a few more minutes, until Harry asked, “What about you, Louis? What do you want to do?”

Louis stared out the window. “I wanted to act, when I was younger,” Louis said.

“When you were younger,” Harry repeated. “But that’s changed?”

“Yes,” Louis said. “Young Louis had very questionable career goals. I also wanted to be a pony, when I was seven, and then when I was twelve I figured I’d be a superhero, and when I was fifteen I decided that exotic dancing was definitely the right choice for me--,”

Harry make a choking sound and the car swerved just a bit. “You _what_?”

Louis winked at him. “That was a joke,” he added, though. “Anyways, acting isn’t a realistic job. It’s hard to get into, and even if you get in, you can’t be guaranteed to _stay_ in. So I’ve realistically pushed that dream away.”

“So then what do you want to do now?”

Louis shrugged. “I don’t really know. I figured I’d take a theatre class in Uni, but my dad’s a bit adamant that I take law, like he did. I’ve applied for a theatre programme and for law school.”

“If you get into both, what are you going to do?” Harry asked him.

Louis shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably law. It’s more realistic, you know? My dad owns a firm, I’d have a high paying job for the rest of my life. It’d be easy.”

Harry nodded and chewed the inside of his lip for a moment. Louis could see his jaw working. “That sounds like something Liam would say,” Harry said finally. “And it’s kind of bullshit, on both your parts, you know that, right? Like, you should do what you want, even if it’s not easy. If you live your whole life trying to make everyone else happy, you’re not really living.”

Louis snorted, because sometimes Harry said pretty deep shit without even thinking it through. It was what made him such a pretentious twat. “Yeah, well, that’s life,” Louis told him.

Harry shrugged. “Maybe you’re right,” he agreed. “Anyways, can I ask _you_ a question?”

“Shoot,” Louis told him.

Louis watched as a car with the backseat filled with young girls passed, all of them screaming along to some song at the top of their lungs.

“When you called me on Christmas you were crying, weren’t you?”

Louis turned to him, a lie already forming in his mind. “Yeah,” he admitted, and then he mentally slapped himself because he had not meant to say that.

Harry looked concerned. “Any particular reason why?”

Louis reached for the volume dial. “Get me drunk enough tonight and maybe I’ll tell you,” he said, turning the volume up loud.

Harry made it a point to stop at literally every fast food place on the way. At first, Louis thought he was just hungry when they pulled off the highway gas station that also had a McDonalds. Harry got himself a burger and drink, while Louis opted to just get the drink. He felt a bit sick to his stomach with nerves, not that he’d admit that. He just had no idea what they were going to do together for the next twelve or so hours.

Then, about half an hour later, they were pulling up to a Burger King, where Harry _insisted_ Louis get something to eat. So he got a small thing of chips, while Harry got another burger. And forty five minutes after that, Harry was ordering himself a thing of chicken from KFC, and Louis finally had to say something.

“Are you a bottomless pit or is it your goal to eat at every place on the way?” Louis demanded.

Harry grinned. “Both.”

Louis gaped at him. “That’s ridiculous. Not to mention unhealthy.”

Harry groaned and bit into a piece of chicken that smelled amazing but looked disgustingly fried. “Please tell me you’re not some health junkie like Liam.”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “I’m not, but I’m also not a fan of having an ass wider than a truck.”

Harry grinned. “I might be a fan of that.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You know you want some,” Harry teased, holding up a piece of chicken. “Come on, Louis, take it. It’s so good. It’s, like, the best chicken ever.” Harry bit into it and moaned loudly, his eyes falling closed. “So good. Oh, fuck.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Louis said, grabbing for a piece of chicken. “Happy?”

“Yep,” Harry said, smiling.

He ate it, mostly to make Harry shut up, but also to distract himself from the fact that his pants had gotten uncomfortably tight while listening to Harry make sounds like that. And wasn’t that just fucking lovely. He got a boner from watching a man eating chicken. He was going to fling himself off a building.

Louis had been to London before, when his parents deemed him worthy enough to accompany them. He’d always been stuck inside hotel rooms, though. He’d never really gotten to explore the city.

“I’ve got some places we’ve got to go,” Harry said when they drove into the city.

Louis raised his eyebrows. “Are you going to get us arrested?”

Harry frowned at him and considered that for far longer than Louis was comfortable with. “Not on purpose.”

He said it with a straight face, and Louis’ eyes widened a fraction. Then Harry burst with laughter, and Louis waited only a beat to join him, laughing until tears blurred his vision.

Apparently the first place Harry wanted to go was a record store. Louis was more surprised that the hadn’t seen that coming.

Obviously they had record stores back home, but this one was huge. Something soft and a bit grungy played in the background, and the walls were covered with various posters of artists Louis didn’t recognize, and a few old guitars that had been painted with band logos, such as Nirvana or Black Sabbath. A store clerk looked up at them from behind the register at the back of the store when they entered. Harry waved to him and immediately went over to a stack of CDs.

Louis let him go and went to browse by himself, wondering if he would find a single thing in this store that he actually listened to. He did, too, finding The Fray’s _How To Save a Life_ album stuck hidden in the back of one of the stacks. Louis picked it up and looked at the back.

Someone -it had to be Harry, he knew, without even turning around- came up behind him and reached over to pluck the CD from his fingers. “The Fray?” Harry asked, reading through the song list. “Get it.”

“It’s used,” Louis told him. “It could be scratched to shit.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s only, like, four dollars. It’s not going to break the bank, now is it?”

Louis shrugged and held onto the CD while Harry pulled him off to another box filled with used CDs. Harry closed his eyes and reached into while Louis watched him with his eyebrows raised. Harry pulled out a random CD from the pile.

“Huh,” Harry said, looking at the cover. “Ever heard of them?”

Louis examined it, not recognizing the name or any of the songs listed on the back, and then shook his head, no.

“Good,” Harry said, handing it to him. “Hold onto this for me.”

He dove his hand back into the box and produced another CD, which he also added to Louis’ pile. They continued on like that through the whole store, until Louis was holding a stack of about thirteen CDs while Harry carried none.

Finally Harry picked one last CD, and then he took half of the pile from Louis and they went up to the counter. “You don’t know any of these,” Louis pointed out as the clerk started ringing up Harry’s purchases.

“Yeah, that’s the fun part,” Harry told him while forking out the money. “They’re cheap, and every song is going to be a surprise. They could all be shit, but they could be awesome, too. You never know.”

Harry left the store with two bags filled with CDs, while Louis carried his one tiny bag with The Fray CD. When they got back to Harry’s car, Harry hit the eject button on the CD player and took Louis’ bag from him before putting on his CD.

Louis instantly hit the next button until he got to _Look After You_ , and then he turned it up a bit. “Your favourite?” Harry guessed.

Louis shrugged and then bit his lip. “If I tell you something, you have to promise to never look it up. Like ever. I will shave that curly head of yours if I find out you have.” Harry placed his hand over his heart and nodded solemnly. Louis ignored it. “When I was fourteen I may or may not have uploaded a video of me singing this song to Youtube. It’s still there. And it’s terrible.”

Harry chuckled. “If it’s terrible. why don’t you take it down?”

“That’d be chickening out. I put it up there, and I’m leaving it there.”

He could see Harry’s lips tugging up in a repressed grin, and then Harry said, “I take back my promise. I’m looking for that video as soon as we get home.”

“Don’t you dare,” Louis told him, horrified.

“Shouldn’t have told me if you didn’t want me to,” Harry shot back.

Louis groaned. “I hate you, you realize that?”

“No one hates me,” Harry told him solemnly. “I’m too lovable.”

“That’s up for debate.”

Louis couldn’t deny that it was a little fun, if not a bit weird, going to the record store with Harry. He looked at the clock, though, and realized that they still had _a lot_ of time before midnight, and he had no idea what they were going to do to fill it.

Apparently, the answer to that question was ice cream.

“It’s December,” Louis pointed out.

“It’s ice cream,” Harry countered.

In the end Louis got a mint chocolate chip cone, and Harry got one that was piled with three different types of ice cream, each of which he let the clerk pick out for him. “You’re way too trusting,” Louis told him while licking his perfectly lovely mint chocolate ice cream.

Harry shrugged and took a lick of the first flavour, some pink coloured thing. He made a weird face, and then grinned. “Cotton candy,” he said, delighted.

The second flavour was bubble gum, and he third was some caramel tapioca thing that Harry insisted Louis tried, saying, “This tastes like arse. Here, have a lick.”

That should have had him saying no, but instead he leaned forward and Harry extended the cone, and he licked it. It was delicious. “That’s good,” Louis told him, while Harry made another face.

“Trade me, then.”

Louis looked down at his half eaten mint chocolate cone, and then at Harry’s, and finally handed it over. Sharing ice cream cones was completely platonic, Louis told himself.

After that there was the museum, which they spent about fifteen minutes in until Harry loudly announced that a certain famous painting looked “A hell of a lot like two men sucking each other off,” after which they quickly left due to the glares from the security men.

“Okay,” Harry said when they stumbled back to the car, laughing loudly. “We’ve got about half an hour to pick up stuff to drink and eat before we have to get to the Thames for the fireworks. If we want a good spot, we have to get there early.”

Louis couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually watched fireworks on New Years Eve, but he was looking forward to it. As a kid, he’d loved them. Of course, he’d only seen them in person once, and that was because his mum allowed his nanny to take him. After that, he watched them on the telly in the living room until he was old enough to drink and party on his own, when he was more interested in seeing how much alcohol he could consume before passing out than he was with watching the displays.

Harry stopped at a small restaurant that was only open for another twenty minutes, and picked up a takeaway dinner. Then they stopped at a coffee shop and got two large hot chocolates, and Harry parked the car as close as he could to the park.

“Wait,” Harry said, popping the trunk. Louis shifted the bag in his arms and leaned against the side of the car. “Here,” Harry said, passing Louis a pair of bright red gloves before pulling on a pair of black ones for himself. “You need a hat? It’s only going to get colder.”

Louis touched a hand to his hair and decided that he’d just deal with the cold. It was too nicely styled, and he was hoping they’d hit a club after the fireworks. “I’m good.”

Harry nodded and pulled on a beanie. “Can’t be too sure,” he said, grinning.

He should have looked ridiculous, his curls fighting their way out of the hat, but he didn’t. He looked warm, and a little cute, yet sexy. Which Louis did not think, because he wasn’t even positive that he was into guys, and if he were, he definitely wouldn’t be into _Harry_.

It was already getting dark as they walked through the city. The streets were crowded, and every couple of minutes someone knocked into the bag Louis was carrying, which earned the person his best bitch face. The closer they got to the river, the more dense the crowds got. Finally Harry stopped, shrugged, and sat down on the pavement between a few groups of people sitting on blankets drinking warm coffee and chatting amongst themselves.

“We’re going to get stepped on,” Louis told him as he sank down to the ground beside Harry.

Harry shrugged. “As long as the food’s okay.”

They ate slowly over the next few hours, which was all the time Harry needed to get to know the groups of people beside them. The group to their left had an extra blanket, which they handed over to Harry without him even asking. The one to their right had numerous thermoses of coffee and tea, which Harry used to refill their own cups.

It was still a bit cold, and Louis regretted the decision to not take the hat from Harry. He wasn’t going to admit that, though, no matter how freezing cold the tips of his ears were.

Eventually, Harry looked down at his phone and then stood up and offered his hand to Louis, who took it only long enough to get to his feet and then released it. Everyone else started standing, too, and a few people cheered. Then, the display started.

It was beautiful. The fireworks reflected off the water, and everyone crowded together to get a better look. Louis spent as much time watching the fireworks over the water as he did watching them reflect in Harry’s eyes.

When people started counting down the time to midnight, Harry looked over at him, a wide, free grin on his face. And then, when the time came, he and Louis yelled together, as loud as they could, directly at each other, “Happy New Years!”

Their shouts were lost in everyone else’s, but it didn’t really matter. The fireworks continued, and Harry went back to watching them.

“Remember when you asked me why I was crying on Christmas?” Louis asked, staring straight ahead.

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him.

“It’s just that my dad said a few things, you know, about gay people, and I just-- I guess it just hit home in a way that it probably shouldn’t have. And I realized that there are still people out there who think like that. Who won’t see certain types of love for what it is, but instead as something wrong, or to be ashamed of.”

He looked at Harry then, and Harry had his eyes narrowed. Instead of saying anything, though, Harry grabbed Louis’ hand and pulled him through the crowd. When he found a bench he climbed onto it, ignoring the people sitting on the seats beside him. The fireworks were still going, and people were still cheering and shouting. Harry extended his hand once more, but Louis shook his head.

“People are staring,” he hissed.

Harry gave him a look that said he didn’t care. “Louis Tomlinson, get your arse up here before I make you,” Harry shouted, causing more people to turn in their direction.

Louis’ cheeks were red when he climbed onto the bench, but he didn’t care. Anything to get Harry to shut up.

“This,” Harry shouted loudly, and Louis flinched, “is my boyfriend! And we’re in love!” And then, without any warning at all, he grabbed Louis roughly by the side of his face, the wool of his gloves scratching Louis’ cold skin, and he kissed him.

It was so fast, too fast, and Louis couldn’t even lift his hands to push him away before it ended. When Harry pulled back, he was grinning widely, and people cheered. Not everyone cheered for them, but for the fireworks, yet there was still a bunch of people, standing close enough to the bench, who hollered and wolf whistled before returning to the fireworks display.

Harry hopped off the bench and waited for Louis to get down. “See?” Harry asked, leaning in close. “Not everyone cares.”

Louis was too stunned to reply to that. He knew, of course, that Harry had only done it to make a point. And yet, that apparently didn’t matter to Louis’ stomach, because it was doing flips, making him feel like he was going to throw up what they’d eaten throughout the day. He couldn’t help but reach up to touch his fingers to his lips, either. They were chapped with the cold, and slightly sticky from the hot chocolate they’d drunken, yet they felt impossibly warm.

“Now let’s go get spectacularly wasted,” Harry said enthusiastically.

 

* * *

 

**Harry**

He hadn’t really intended to kiss Louis. Sure, he’d wanted to the whole night. When he was sipping hot chocolate and licked it off his lips. When he’d laughed at one of Harry’s childhood stories, the one that involved Gemma and the purple hair dye. When he’d stared straight ahead, watching the colours fill the sky, mouth open and lips curled up in a smile. But he hadn’t, because he knew he couldn’t.

Louis had a girlfriend, which Harry had to constantly remind himself of. He’d said her name over in his head hundreds of times that whole day. When he’d reached over Louis to grab the CD from him, Eleanor’s name popped up in his head, accompanied by the girls face. When Louis had licked his ice cream in a way that really, really shouldn’t have been legal, he chanted it over and over in his mind, a constant reminder to himself to not care about Louis in that way.

But then Louis had told him what happened on Christmas, and why it had bothered so much. And he’d looked so genuinely upset about it that Harry didn’t really care about Eleanor at all. In fact, it wasn’t even about kissing Louis. It was about proving to him that, yeah, some people were going to give you shit over who you loved, no matter what, but that there were people who would just be genuinely happy for you.

It had been a completely selfless act. Completely. And if he had trouble looking Louis in the eyes afterwards, that was no ones business but his own.

Harry had a fake ID made a year ago, and though he hadn’t had much opportunity to use it, that night he was grateful to have it. Of course, Louis actually _was_ old enough to drink, but Harry had promised Louis a night of fun, and that did not include Louis sneaking him drinks while no one was looking.

They found a club easily. The streets of London were packed with the drunk and disorderly, all of them clinging to each other and shouting or singing or wishing everyone they passed a happy new year.

Before they went into one of the seedier, more packed clubs -- Harry figured it would be easier for him to get them drinks without someone realizing he was underage that way--, Louis put a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“If we get drunk, how are we supposed to get home? We can’t just stumble back to your car and sleep on the streets.”

Harry frowned. He hadn’t really thought about that part. He’d just planned on taking Louis out, watching the fireworks, and then getting drunk. It was a flaw in his character. He thought through the fun parts, and left logic to the wind. It was what caused him to get in trouble so often.

“Wait!” Louis said loudly. “The hotel room. Niall said he brought Liam with him when he called, right, so we’ll just go there and sleep. It’s not like they’ll mind.”

“Should we text them first?” Harry asked.

Louis shook his head. “No point. It’s not a big deal, right? It’s not like he brought a date and we have to worry about walking in on them getting it on. Plus, I know where the hotel is. I can get us there easily, drunk off my arse or not.”

Harry shrugged. As long as they could still get drunk and have a safe place to pass out afterwards, he was game. Plus, he really would like to get a bit of sleep before the three-and-a-half hour drive home.

“Now let’s go see how drunk we can get before someone threatens to arrest us,” Harry said brightly, extending his arm in a gentlemanly fashion.

Louis put his hand delicately on it and flicked a bit of hair off his forehead. “I knew your goal was to get me in handcuffs tonight,” Louis told him.

Really, it wasn’t his fault that, after that, Harry imagined Louis in his bed, naked and handcuffed to the posts. “Only after we get back to the hotel,” Harry said with a wink.

He didn’t get to hear or see Louis’ reaction to that, because they were urged into the club by a group of people behind them. The club itself was brimming with people. Lights flicked and danced in as many colours as the fireworks had, while music thumped and people swayed to the beat. Everything smelled like a mixture of too strong perfume and alcohol, and Harry inhaled deeply.

“Wait here,” Harry instructed when they got close to a wall. “I’ll be right back.”

Louis leaned against the wall and nodded. Harry headed over to the bar, sliding onto a stool beside a girl with blonde hair and a dress that showed so much cleavage that Harry couldn’t even look at her without his eyes darting down, so he didn’t.

The bartender was a pretty female, and Harry figured that she’d been hit on too many times to count that night, because the second Harry opened his mouth she said, “I’m a lesbian. What can I get for you?”

Harry grinned at her. “That the way you greet everyone?”

“It is tonight, apparently,” she grumbled. “Hundreds of girls on the dance floor and they choose to hit on the bartender. Anyways, what do you want?”

Harry shrugged. “Whatever you want to make.”

She raised her perfectly styled eyebrows. “Is this your way of flirting with me?”

“No, this is my way of saying I’ve only been to one other club, and I have no idea what the hell to get for me and my boyfriend,” Harry told her. He added the boyfriend part just to let her know that, no, he wasn’t trying to hit on her. He was just charming by nature.

“Ah,” she said. “I’ll be right back, then.”

She returned a few moments later, after sliding a few mugs of beer over to a group of men who ogled her ass and winked at her. She put two light blue drinks in front of Harry and said, “That’ll be thirteen pounds.”

Harry’s eyes widened and his mouth opened. “Seriously? But I didn’t even hit on you!”

She snorted a laugh. “Money and ID, curly.”

Harry groaned but pulled out both. She examined his ID with her eyes narrowed. She pocketed the money and then pushed the glasses and his ID back to him. “That’s got to be the shittiest fake ID I’ve ever seen. You’re lucky it’s New Years and this place is too busy for me to give a shit.”

Harry gave her a thankful grin and took the drinks back to Louis. Louis took his drink with his lips slightly pursed. “Did you get her number?” he asked.

Harry realized that there was a clear path from Louis to the bar, and he must have been watching Harry’s interaction with the bartender. He tried to figure out if he was imagining the slightly jealous tone to Louis’ voice when he said, “Oh, yeah, she wants us to go on a date with her and her girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Louis said, sounding a bit guilty. He sipped his drink and then frowned at it. “This is good. What the hell is it?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, but it better be good because it cost me thirteen quid.”

“I’ll pay you back,” Louis said quickly, but Harry waved his hand and took a large sip of his drink. It was really good, actually. “Let’s finish these and then go dance, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed.

Harry couldn’t tell how much time passed. They’d had a lot of alcohol -- the barmaid winked at him when he tugged Louis over to get a few shots-- and everything was hazy. Louis had started dancing with some random girl, at one point, and Harry felt something raw and warm bubble up inside of him that he refused to label as jealousy.

He caught Louis watching him when he went up to a pretty girl with short brown hair and started dancing with her. Harry just closed his eyes and ignored it, letting the shitty music and the alcohol keep his mind from drifting back to him.

“Harry!” Louis said loudly. Harry turned to find the other boy right behind him. “I’m so drunk,” Louis told him, pushing the girl he was dancing with out of the way to wrap an arm around Harry’s neck. “Hold me.”

“Um.” Harry put a hand around Louis’ waist and gave the girl an apologetic look.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Louis said, putting his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Run along now.”

The girl rolled her eyes and muttered, “prick,” before walking off to rejoin her friends. Harry let her go, not really minding. He hadn’t been all that into it anyways, to be honest.

“Let’s go to the hotel,” Louis slurred, and his body slumped more into Harry until Harry was practically holding him up. “My head is spinning.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, because his wasn’t doing much better.

Harry guided Louis’ past the dance floor, heading for the door. All of a sudden Louis pulled out of his arms, eyes wide. “I’ll be right back,” he said quickly before running off. Harry couldn’t move fast enough to stop him, so he just watched as Louis ran up to the bar, pulled a bill from his back pocket, and handed it to the girl who had served them all night. She smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the sides, and then Louis was back at his side. “Sorry, had to. That poor girl had her bum slapped so many times tonight, I figured she needed a good tip.”

Louis had said he would be able to find the hotel easily even drunk. That, apparently, was not exactly true, Harry learned less than twenty minutes later as they stumbled through the streets. They weren’t the only drunk people wandering about, and they definitely weren’t the loudest. Still, Harry felt a bit helpless, being stuck in a city he didn’t know all that well, drunk off his ass while he carried around Louis, who was equally-- if not more so-- intoxicated

“It’s definitely down this street,” Louis told him. “Definitely.”

“You’ve said that about the last two streets,” Harry pointed out.

Louis narrowed his eyes. “I --,” he cut off when the chorus of All Time Low's  _Vegas_  played statically through Louis’ pants. His eyes went wide and he pulled his phone out before saying loudly, “Zayn!”

Harry tried not to let his own eyes narrow at that. Really, he’d been a bit of a dick to Zayn, but at the same time, Zayn was a bit of a dick in general for what he’d done to Liam. Not that Liam wasn’t old enough or emotionally stable enough to make his own choices, because he was. It was just that Liam hadn’t had a lot of experience with those types of things, and it made Harry irrationally angry that the one time he decided to put himself out there with someone, that someone hooked up with him and then didn’t speak to him again. At all.

“What?” Louis barked into the phone. Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll ask him, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to say no because he hates you. Well, you were kind of a dick, love. Mhm, it’s the puppy eyes. I don’t know how you did it. Yes, right,” Louis covered the receiver and looked at Harry. “I think Zayn’s possibly more drunk than the two of us combined, which in itself is a great feat, but he wants Liam’s number.”

Harry gaped at him. “No way,” he said quickly. “So he can screw around with him again? I don’t think so. If Liam wants to make bad choices, that’s on him, but I’m not enabling it.”

“Ooh, enable. Good word,” Louis told him before uncovering the phone. “Yeah, he said no. I don’t have it! Mm, you’re right, Niall could have it, but I doubt Niall’s sober enough to answer a phone right now, you know how that boy gets. Oh, yeah, I can do that. Harry?” Harry looked at him, and Louis took a step in his direction before grabbing his arm and pushing him backwards. Harry’s back hit a wall, and he sucked in a breath as Louis put his leg between both of Harry’s, the phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder.

And then Louis dug into Harry’s pocket without any warning, and Harry didn’t do a thing to stop it. Louis quickly found Liam’s number and rattled it off to Zayn, all the while Harry stood there, breathing heavily, unable to do anything but put his hands on Louis’ waist. When he did, Louis tensed and then said a quick, “Got to go, babe, don’t do anything stupid,” and then ended the call.

Louis still had both of their phones in his hands, and he just stood there, looking at Harry with a curious expression on his face. “Do you mind?” Harry asked, looking down at his leg effectively trapping Harry against the wall.

“I really think you’re driving me crazy,” Louis announced quietly. “Absolutely batshit crazy.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the drinks he’d had, or maybe it was just Louis being so close, but that voice in the back of his head reminding him of Eleanor, and why he shouldn’t do anything, and of the fact that Louis possibly may not even like guys disappeared for a moment. Harry reached up and brushed a fallen piece of Louis’ hair off his forehead.

“Not going to apologize for that,” Harry told him.

“You should,” Louis told him, a serious look on his face. “You really should, because it’s not fair at all.”

He wasn’t sure who moved in first, but Louis’ hands tangled in his hair -- with a bit of difficulty, because he was still clutching their phones--, and their mouths came together in an almost painful way. There was no hesitant, chaste, lips closed kissing involved. It was all open mouths and tongue and the taste of burning alcohol. Louis’ lips were roughly chapped, and Harry’s fingers tightened around his waist. It was cold, but Louis’ skin was hot, too hot under his finger tips, and Harry pushed his hands all the way under Louis’ shirt, splaying out his fingers over the small of his back.

Louis was the first to pull back. Or, more accurately, move his lips from Harry’s mouth to tuck his head into Harry’s shoulder. “That was right, wasn’t it?” Louis asked.

Harry didn’t know what he meant, but he just held Louis closer to him and brushed his hands through Louis’ hair until Louis sighed against him and pulled back.

“I think I’m sober enough to find that hotel now,” Louis said quietly.

Harry nodded and pushed off from the wall. They didn’t hold hands or really even talk all the way there. Harry could practically hear Louis’ mind working on over drive, could see all the questions that flitted over his face. He felt sober now, too, and tired. Like the weight of the day was suddenly too much to take.

He wanted to kiss Louis again. He _wanted_ to hold Louis’ hand. It was like there was a wall between them now, though, and he didn’t know how to climb over it, or break it down.

Eventually they found the hotel. It was huge and fancy looking, and Louis straightened his coat before walking in with his head held high, like he was trying his best to look like he hadn’t drunken half a bottle of whatever it was the barmaid had given them.

“Louis Tomlinson,” Louis said when he reached the front desk.

The receptionist typed something into the computer and then said, “ID?”

Louis pulled a wallet out of one of his many pockets, and Harry frowned at that. Those jeans were way too tight to hide anything, but he hadn’t seen the wallet in Louis pocket.

Louis gave the woman the ID, and then she nodded before passing it back. “Your guest already came to get the room key. Do you need another?”

“Mm, yes, I think so,” Louis said. “I doubt he’ll be awake to answer the door.”

The woman nodded and produced a card and handed it over to Louis. “Room 409,” she told him.

The elevator ride was quiet. Louis leaned his head against the wall and Harry pushed the button to the forth floor. When he got out, Harry’s shoulder bumped into Louis’ and Louis flinched away from him. Harry felt a sharp pain in his gut at that and swallowed thickly, trying to forget about it.

Louis unlocked the door and Harry stayed back a few steps, not wanting to get too close to him when he obviously didn’t want Harry around. The door swung open and the lights inside the room were off. Louis flicked them on, and Harry noticed that there was only one bed and a comfortable looking couch in the room.

And then he noticed that there were people in the bed. People who gasped and shrieked and reached for the covers. People who had very little clothing on.

Niall was one of those people. And his sister was the other.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry demanded.

 

* * *

 

**Niall**

 

When Harry and Louis pulled away from the house in Harry’s car, Gemma came downstairs in a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. Her hair was a mess from sleeping, and her eyes were heavily lidded.

“Morning,” she grumbled.

Niall looked at her, and then down at the tickets in his hand. Without even consciously deciding on it, he asked, “Want to spend New Years Eve in London with me?”

Gemma blinked at him. “New Years,” she repeated. “In London. With you.”

Niall shrugged. “If you want, I mean. Louis gave me these tickets, and--,”

Gemma snatched the tickets from his hands and quickly scanned them. “This is a really fancy party,” she told him. “And the bus is paid for both ways.”

Niall nodded. “His parents also rented him a hotel room, and he said I could use it.”

Gemma smirked at him. “Now I see why you’re inviting me, you pervert.”

Niall shook his head, laughing. “No, I really just wanted you to go with me. Like on a date.”

“A date,” she repeated, frowning down at the tickets once again. “Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”

Niall shrugged. “Not yet, but I was kind of hoping that we could.”

“You’re my brother’s friend,” Gemma told him, eyebrows drawn together. “And I know that it’s a really bad idea. Like, catastrophically bad, and morally wrong on _so_ many levels. And Harry is going to absolutely murder you.”

“Yeah,” Niall agreed, because he’d already worked that all out in his head days ago.

“Okay,” she said finally, smiling at him. “We’ll go. But you need a suit.”

Niall looked down at himself, wearing nothing but a loose pair of track pants. “I don’t have one.”

Gemma grabbed his arm and started tugging him upstairs. “Good thing for you, Harry was a freak and his graduation suit should be big enough to fit you. He was the tallest kind in his class. He was like Godzilla. I teased him mercilessly about it.”

“You’re kind of cruel, you know that?” Niall asked her.

Gemma winked at him. “And you’re kind of cute.”

It turned out that Harry’s suit did, in fact, fit him. It was a little snug around the shoulders, but other than that it was fine. Niall took it off after trying it on and folded it neatly before putting it in a bag. The bus would arrive in about two hours, and he figured they’d go to the hotel, get the key, drop their stuff off, and then have dinner before returning to the hotel to change and head to the party, which started at about nine.

He had a quick shower and then went back downstairs after packing to find Anne in the kitchen, sipping a tea and reading a news paper. “There’s more tea if you want one,” she told him without looking up.

“I’m good,” Niall said. “Thanks anyways.”

“Help yourself to whatever you want for breakfast,” Anne added.

Niall did, feeling more than comfortable at Harry’s house. He made himself two pieces of toast and ate it while Anne read the newspaper. They’d only been at Harry’s mum’s for a week and a half, but he liked it there. It was warm and comforting, and Anne was great. Gemma was great, too, but that was a given, really.

Of course, sharing a room with Harry wasn’t the greatest. He was a bed hog, and he was a neat freak. Every time Niall left something on the floor, even for a second, Harry would swoop in like a hawk and berate him for it.

If they were staying at Anne’s, which was apparently still up for discussion (“You’ve done so well at your father’s,” Anne had told Harry when he brought it up. “Your grades have gotten higher, you’ve not gotten arrested. I’m starting to think that maybe he was right. Maybe it is better for you”), much to Harry’s annoyance, then Niall would get Gemma’s room once she went back to Uni.

He didn’t really want that day to come, though. He’d put up with sharing a bed with Harry every night if he could see Gemma everyday. And when he thought that, he realized just how much trouble he was in with this girl.

“You okay?” Anne asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“What? Oh, I’m fine,” Niall said quickly. “But uh, I’m staying at Liam’s tonight.”

“I figured as much,” Anne told him, a smile on her face even though she was frowning a bit. “Harry left early to go over there. He’s staying there too, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah, I wasn’t sure if he told you or not,” Niall lied. Harry could have at least warned him, the prick. “We’re just going to eat pizza and do nothing all day.”

Anne snorted. “Like I’m going to buy that. Just be safe, the three of you. I’m actually quite fond of you boys, for some reason.”

“I’m pretty fond of you guys, as well,” Niall said slightly quieter. “Really. You guys have done a lot for me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to pay you back for that.”

Anne’s eyes crinkled into a sad smile. “You don’t have to,” she told him honestly. Niall realized that John must have spoken with her, judging by the look in her eyes. “You’re always welcome here, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” Niall said thickly, looking down at his toast.

“Anytime,” Anne said as she stood up. She passed by him and ruffled his hair on the way to the living room.

A few hours later he and Gemma boarded the bus to London. Gemma brought an iPod and together, sat side by side, the two of them listened to song after song. Sometimes they sang along, ignoring the looks from the other passengers. It was nice. It was comfortable. And in a few days, his best mate was definitely going to punch him in the face for it.

That was always there, hanging over his head every time Gemma did something to make him smile, or kissed him. And yet he couldn’t find it in himself to stop.

Finding the hotel was difficult. Neither of them knew the city well, and they spent about an hour walking around, lost. That wasn’t a bad thing, though. Gemma pulled him into a random second hand store, bell tinkling over their heads.

“Look at this stuff,” she said, eyes wide. “Let’s try it on.”

“We’re not going to have time for dinner if we don’t hurry,” Niall told her.

Gemma scoffed. “Who can care about dinner when there’s all this _stuff_?”

Niall raised his eyebrows. “I always care about dinner.”

“And one day that metabolism of yours is going to fail you,” she told him, grabbing things at random off the rack. “Now go try these on.”

He didn’t even look at what she handed him before heading into the change room. It was small with no door, just a large piece of fabric. Niall stripped off his clothes and pulled on the pants Gemma gave him. They were an alarming shade of green that Niall hadn’t even known existed until then. The shirt wasn’t much better, either. It was turquoise and sparkly, little silvery threads woven into the scratchy wool.

When he stepped out of the change room, feeling completely ridiculous, Gemma said, “Just a second,” before pulling open her own curtain.

Niall groaned loudly. “Not fair,” he said, stepping towards her. “I look ridiculous and you look gorgeous.”

Gemma blushed slightly but playfully slapped him on the arm. She was wearing a long flowing dress in a deep green that looked perfect with her eyes. It dipped low at the chest and then flowed, all silk, down over her hips, all the way to her feet. “Are you insulting my taste of clothing?”

Niall wrapped his arms around her waist. “No,” he said honestly. “Because that dress looks perfect on you.”

“It better,” she told him. “It’s about a hundred quid.”

Niall gaped at her. “Jesus, girls clothes cost a lot of money.”

Gemma snorted. “Right? I bet your whole outfit right now doesn’t even cost half of that.” She reached around him to pull at the tag of his sweater, and then the one on the pants. “Told you. It’s twenty all together. Ridiculous.”

“I look ridiculous.”

Gemma sucked in her lips and tried to keep a straight face. That lasted for all of about ten seconds before she burst with laughter, covering her mouth and bending over. “You really do,” she told him. “You really, really do.”

Niall reached past her to grab the green wig that sat on top of a mannequin. He tugged it onto her head. “So do you.”

Gemma turned to look at herself in the mirror and she struck a pose, lips pursed, eyebrows raised. “No, I still look better than you.”

They spent the next half an hour picking out the most ridiculous outfits for each other. Gemma ended up wearing a pair of men’s pants so large for her that they nearly fell down, and a loose jersey. Niall found her a necklace, too, with a giant cross hanging from it, and a snapback.

Gemma found him a pair of heels to wear. “Every lady has at least one pair of heels that could match any evening dress,” she told him solemnly.

They hurt. A lot.

Eventually the clerk came over to them and stated, “If you don’t have any plans on actually buying something, please leave.”

Gemma handed him over a handful of change and kept the snapback. She ended up placing it on Niall’s head after they changed back into their own clothing.

“There,” she said. “To make up for the lack of Christmas gift.”

“Now I have to get you something,” Niall whined.

“Exactly.”

By the time they got to the hotel they only had about an hour before they had to go to the party. Definitely not enough time to go out and get dinner.

“How much money does this kid have?” Gemma hissed in his ear after they go the key from the receptionist.

Niall shrugged. “A lot, apparently.”

The first thing Gemma did when they got to the room was throw her bag on the bed and check the bathroom. “This bathtub could fit both of us!” she shouted. “And no, Niall, that’s not an invitation!”

The room was really nice. The whole back wall was windows, opening up to the city. They were covered by a huge curtain, but when he pulled it back his eyes widened.

“Holy shit,” Gemma said, coming up behind him. “We could watch the fireworks from here.”

Niall looked down at her. “We could.”

“But I brought my fancy dress and everything,” she pouted.

Niall laughed. “We’ll go to the party. If it sucks, we’ll come back here early, though.”

“Deal.”

“Now let’s order some room service. I’ll pay Louis back.”

Half an hour later, Gemma disappeared into the bathroom with her bag. While she was in there Niall finished eating and got the suit out, ready to pull it on quickly when she was done. They’d take a cab to the party.

He was just pulling the tie out of the bag when the bathroom door opened.

Niall had thought she looked great in the random dress at the second hand store. That was nothing compared to how she looked now.

This dress fit her perfectly. It was bright red, his favourite colour, and it hugged every part of her body just right. It was strapless and not nearly as low cut as the other. The skin of her shoulders looked smooth and soft, and he really, really wanted to push her down on the bed and cover that skin with his lips. She’d done her hair up, too, in a complicated twist thing, a few strands left down to frame her face.

Her lips were stained red, too, but Niall didn’t really care, because he had to kiss her. There was no question about it. He _had_ to, so he did. She laughed and pushed him away after a moment. “You’re getting lipstick all over your face,” she told him.

“I don’t really care,” he told her honestly, and she kissed him again, this time long and slow. He stepped closer to her, close enough that she had no choice but to step back, and then step back again, until her back hit the wall. “You wear that dress beautifully.”

Gemma laughed against his lips. “Then why do you look like you’re seriously considering ripping it off?”

Niall grinned. “Because I am.”

They were late to the party by about ten minutes. Gemma had to reapply her lipstick and fix her hair, and Niall still had to get dressed. When he was done, Gemma looked him up and down slowly.

“I’m regretting giving you Harry’s suit,” she told him. “Because you look really fit in it, and it’s making me uncomfortable because there’s about a hundred pictures of Harry in that thing on Facebook.”

Niall looked down at himself. “You think it’s okay though? I’ve never really worn a suit before.”

Gemma kissed him chastely on the lips, darting away when he tried to pull her back in. “Oh no, not again. We need to leave. Yes, you look good enough to strip down, but later. After we’ve danced and gotten drunk and made complete arses of ourselves in a formal setting.”

“I’m glad you have so much confidence in us,” Niall said blankly, until he couldn’t hold it in and he snorted. “We’re so screwed. We’re not going to know anyone there.”

“Then let’s pretend that we’re an exceptionally rich pair of socialites. Oh, let’s pretend we were married at sixteen, because I was pregnant with our first child. We struggled through the first couple years of our marriage until, as fate had it, you won the lottery. Now we live in a huge house, you’ve got a drinking problem, I’m addicted to prescription pills, and both of our children are raised by a sixty year old woman named Samantha.”

Niall raised his eyebrows at her. “Only if you call me Jose all night.”

“Deal,” Gemma said, offering her arm, head held high. “And I’ll be Cordelia Acklebot.” Niall snorted. “What? I came from a pretentious rich family that disowned me for having a child at such a young age.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re weird?” Niall asked her.

“I want a divorce,” she told him.

Somehow they actually made it down to the hotel lobby, and then into a cab. The lights of the city flashed by as they looked out the window. Niall had never been in London before. The streets were crowded with loud people, and the city seemed to stretch on endlessly.

Finally the cab stopped in front of a gigantic building that was surrounded by lights and limos and people in expensive clothing. Niall paid the cab driver and got out of the car. Gemma stayed inside until he opened her door and offered his hand to her. She took it and then he turned her hand over and kissed her wrist gently before wrapping an arm around her waist.

“You’ve got the tickets, right?” he asked her.

“I’ve got everything you could ever need in here,” she said, patting her clutch. “Seriously. There’s a first aid kit, make-up, money, ID, a flotation device. If the apocalypse happens to fall down upon us while we’re in there, I’ve got us covered.”

They walked up the endless staircase to the building. The building itself was all glass. He could see inside to the beautifully furnished dinning room to the dance floor, where a band was already set up and a few people were dancing.

“God,” Gemma breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

“Second most beautiful thing I’ve seen all night,” Niall told her. Gemma gave him a sappy look. “That steak we had for dinner was perfect.”

She pushed his arm before digging into her purse for their tickets. When they got to the doors there was a pair of large men in all black waiting. Gemma handed them her tickets with a flourish. One of the men opened the doors for them, and they were ushered inside.

Niall felt extremely out of place. Everyone there seemed to be _someone_ , be they the owner of some kind of company, or a B list celebrity from something Niall had never seen. The table he and Gemma were sat at was already occupied by two other couples. One of them was a business man from America and his wife, the other was an actress from another movie Niall had never seen and her trophy husband, a young man who didn’t look all that much older than Niall or Gemma who drank more wine than their waiter could serve.

They ate again at that table, and Gemma only picked at her food while Niall ate the whole course. When the last plates were whisked away, he and Gemma got up to dance.

“Why would your friend’s parents even give him invitations to this?” Gemma asked as they swayed together to the boring classical music. “This is horrible.”

Niall laughed, but agreed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I bet he and Harry are having more fun doing whatever they’re doing.”

“He’s with Harry?” Gemma asked.

Niall nodded. “I don’t know what they’re doing. They didn’t really tell me.”

“Hmm. Do you think it’s a date?”

Niall laughed. “Uh, no. I’m pretty sure Louis has a girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Gemma said quietly. “That’s unfortunate. Harry could use a rich man to get him through life.”

Niall snorted. “You never know.”

They didn’t dance for very long. After a bit Gemma made a comment about her feet hurting, and how she knew she hated wearing heels and she shouldn’t have bothered, and Niall suggested they head back to the hotel.

“If we get a cab now, we might have just enough time to watch the fireworks out the window.”

Gemma nodded. “You call a cab and meet me out front. I need to use the bathroom.”

Niall agreed and headed outside. It was cold, wearing just his suit . He could hear people drunkenly shouting from the bar across the street and smiled to himself as he called the cab. So the party was shit. He still had a great time with Gemma.

Just as the cab pulled up out front, Gemma started down the stairs, going a bit fast. Niall met her halfway, just to make sure she didn’t fall over in her heels. “You’re acting like you stole something,” he told her, shaking his head.

Gemma grinned. “I did. The bottle of wine from our table.”

Niall looked down at her hand and there was, in fact, the bottle of wine from their table. “You’re insane,” he said. “I’m starting to like it.”

“Let’s go before we miss the fireworks!” she said, tugging him towards the cab.

They got back to the room with just enough time for Gemma to open the wine and for Niall to open the curtains and turn off the light in the room. They drank straight from the bottle and sat on the floor, legs spread out in front of them, leaning back on their hands.

The display was long and by the time it ended Gemma had curled up against his side and the bottle of the wine was more than halfway finished. Niall picked it up and put it on the side table before flopping onto the almost too comfortable bed. He patted the spot beside him and Gemma got up, sitting at the end of the bed to tug off her shoes.

“I should change,” she muttered, smoothing her dress.

“Or not,” Niall said, letting his eyes rake down her slowly.

“Or not,” she agreed.

She climbed up the bed towards him, and Niall tugged down the comforter, climbing under it. Gemma followed, and then they just lay there like that, staring up at the ceiling, until her hand slid slowly up his arm and he turned to her.

“This dress is really uncomfortable,” she said quietly.

Niall smirked. “So take it off.”

“You’re being forward,” she told him. “And I don’t get naked on the first date.”

“Technically this is our second date,” he pointed out. “If you count the one at the coffee shop.”

Gemma gave him a long look before saying, “I count the one at the coffee shop.” And then she kissed him, hands tangling in his hair to pull their mouths together.

He could be cheeky and bold all he wanted, but he really wasn’t planning on doing anything unless she definitely, one hundred percent wanted to. That was why it was Gemma who sat up and reached behind herself for the clasp on her dress. It was Gemma who undid the zipper, and who threw the dress to the floor. And it was Gemma who threw her legs over his and straddled him.

“We should get this suit off,” she said while tugging at the buttons. “I hate it.”

Niall sat up and pulled off the jacket while Gemma continued to undo the buttons on the undershirt. When that was gone, too, she kissed his collarbone and then moved down his chest. Niall’s fingers slowly undid the complicated twist of her hair until it fell along her shoulders. He was just sliding his hands down her arms to cup her breasts when the door to the room flew open.

Gemma squealed and rolled off him, clutching at the blanket, while Niall went to swing his legs out of bed to -- he didn’t know what. Defend her from whoever was coming in the room.

When the light turned on, though, Niall froze. Gemma, behind him, gasped loudly, and Harry let out a loud, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Niall, you dog,” Louis said, grinning. He was drunk. His face was red and his eyes were bright.

“Fuck,” Niall moaned, flopping down onto the bed. He pulled the covers up over his and Gemma’s head.

“Get up!” Harry said loudly.

“Don’t really want to,” Niall answered.

“He’s going to kill us,” Gemma told him softly.

The blankets were pulled suddenly off the bed. “That’s my _sister_ ,” Harry said loudly.

“Oh,” Louis looked between the three of them. “Oh, this is good. I’m ordering room service.”

Harry turned to look at Louis, his eyes like burning lava. Louis seemed unfazed. “Oh, come on, Harold. It’s New Years, we’re all young, attractive, and wasted. Let it go for the night.”

Harry gaped at him like a fish out of water, and Niall felt the guilt inside him growing. He wanted to tell Harry, he did, but he didn’t want him to find out like _this_. This was bad. This was going to make it all so, so much worse. If there was any chance of Harry forgiving him, it was probably just thrown out the window.

Harry’s chest was heaving and his face had turned so deep red that Gemma gave him a concerned look. “Harry, please, can we talk about this?”

“Talk about this,” Harry repeated. “That’s one of my best mates! And you’re my sister! I don’t even know which one of you I want to strangle more to be quite honest with you.”

Louis put a hand on Harry’s arm. “Come on, Haz,” he said, tugging him towards the door. “I’ve got my credit card on me. I’ll get us another room. You two-- well, I would say don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, but I would definitely have sex, and I don’t really think you two should do that. So just-- goodnight.”

Niall watched the door close behind them and then laid back down on the bed. “That’s not how that was supposed to go.”

Gemma sighed. “It’ll be okay,” she told him. “I know Harry. We just have to give him time and talk to him. He’ll be fine.”

“You’re his sister,” Niall pointed out. “He’s gotta love you no matter what.”

Gemma took his hand. “And even when he’s so angry at you he could strangle you, he called you one of his best mates. We’ll work it out.”

Niall nodded. “Let’s just go to bed. We’ll talk when we get home tomorrow.”

“Good idea,” she agreed, sliding out of bed to turn off the light. She grabbed her clothes from the bathroom first, though, and changed into her pyjamas. They fell asleep not long after, her arm around his waist.

 

* * *

  
**Liam**

Liam’s parents made a decent amount of money. They weren’t poor, by any means. Their banks weren’t exactly overflowing with extra cash either, though. That was why they rarely went out and had only went on a handful of trips since Liam had been born, and even then it was only to places near by.

Every New Years Eve, though, they got a hotel room for the night and left Liam alone. They celebrated their anniversary in June the same way. His parents used to tell him the story of how they met at a horrible New Years Eve party, and how they’d both felt out of place and had been dragged along by their friends. And then they met each other, and the night had gotten better. Twenty years later, they were still happily married.

Most kids his age would take advantage of a free house every New Years. Harry had suggested parties more than once over their course of their friendship, but Liam always said no. There would be too much to clean up, too many things that could get broken. Plus, Liam wasn’t exactly popular. The chances of anyone coming to _his_ party were slim.

So Liam stayed home, and Harry usually went to some party thrown by people he didn’t really know. Liam would watch the countdown on the telly and order pizza for himself and splurge on the greasy, unhealthy cheesy mess and then pass out.

He didn’t mind, really. He liked the time alone in the house. It was relaxing.

He was anxiously waiting for Harry to call, though, because Harry usually called on New Years to scream at him drunkenly. Niall had called him earlier in the day and Liam still couldn’t believe the conversation they’d had, or that he’d agreed to any of what Niall had said.

“Louis and Harry are spending the day in London,” Niall had informed him first thing. “And Louis got these tickets for this huge fancy party and he got a hotel room too, but he didn’t need them anymore, and he gave them to me, right?”

“Okay,” Liam said slowly. He was surprised that Harry and Louis were spending the day together, but he didn’t ask Niall for details because he figured Niall didn’t really have any.

“There’s two of them, right, and I think Louis and Harry thought I’d invite you, but the thing is, I kind of have someone else I want to take. A girl.”

“That’s fine,” Liam said quickly, smiling. “Take her. I won’t hold it against you.”

“I know you won’t,” Niall said automatically. “Because you’re the greatest. Which is also why I need you to tell Harry that I _did_ take you, if he asks.”

Liam frowned. “Why not just tell him the truth?”

Niall sighed. “BecausethegirlIwanttotakeisHarry’ssister.”

“I didn’t catch that.”

“I want to take Gemma. Okay?”

Liam pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it, checking to see if it was broken, or if maybe the signal was so bad that it had screwed up Niall’s words. The phone was fine, though, and he had three bars.

“Oh my god,” Liam stated. “Niall, you’re not--,”

“I kind of am,” he admitted quietly, and then he launched into a huge story about meeting Gemma at a coffee shop and them hitting it off and kissing before he even knew who she was. And then after that Niall said they texted and called each other and he really had meant to come out with it, but he liked her a lot, and he knew Harry was going to kill him. Liam made a sound of agreement at that. Harry was going to be furious.

“So can you just lie to him for me? Just for the night? I promise I’ll tell him everything. Just-- after she goes back to Uni, okay?”

Liam hesitated. Harry was his best mate, and they didn’t really have any secrets from each other. Not ones like _that_. Harry would be almost as mad at Liam as he would be at Niall if he knew that Liam had known and hadn’t told him.

But Niall promised to tell the truth eventually, and he’d sounded so sincerely hopeful about the whole thing.

“Fine,” Liam said finally. “But you _have_ to tell him soon.”

“I will,” Niall promised. “You’re the best, Li. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Liam had agreed, and Niall hung up.

It was past midnight, though, and Harry still hadn’t called. Liam figured that meant he wasn’t going to. He’d probably gotten wasted with Louis, and the two of them were up to god knows what. Hopefully nothing they would regret in the morning, but then again, this was Harry. He didn’t really regret all that much.

He was just about to fall asleep while watching some really shitty made-for-tv movie about a girl who’s brother had cancer and she fell in love with his doctor but then broke up with him after her brother died. It was _supposed_ to be sad, he figured, but the acting was too terrible for him to really feel anything.

His phone, sitting on the coffee table between three empty cans of Coke and a nearly empty box of pizza, started to ring as his eyes closed. Liam sat up quickly, fumbling for the phone. He knocked over the cans and the pizza box slid to the floor. Liam looked down at it forlornly before pressing the talk button.

He hadn’t looked the caller I.D., figuring it was Harry. He didn’t expect the loud, rough voice, saying an extremely slurred, “Liam!”

Liam frowned. “Who is this?”

“I’m really sorry, Liam,” the person on the other end said. Or that’s what he thought they said. The music and people screaming in the background was too loud, mixed with the slurred words, for him to really tell. “I’m sorry for not talking to you.”

Liam swallowed and sat down on the couch. “Zayn.”

“I’m really drunk,” Zayn told him. “Really drunk. And Louis had to give me your number. I think he’s really drunk too.”

Liam sighed. “Is there any reason you’re calling me, or is it just to tell me how drunk you are?”

“I need you to come pick me up,” Zayn answered. The sound of music got quieter, and Liam could now hear the sound of cars driving by. “I lost my wallet. I don’t have cab money.”

“Are you outside?” Liam demanded.

“Mhm. Too hot in the club. Too many people.”

“Don’t go near the road,” Liam ordered automatically. He spotted his keys by the front door and considered telling Zayn that he couldn’t do it, but in the end he got up. “Where are you?”

“Um,” Zayn hesitated. “You know that statue that looks like a goat downtown? I’ll be on the goat.”

“Zayn--,” the call ended before he could tell him not to climb the goat. Liam groaned. He got enough of this shit from Harry. He didn’t need to be someone else’s babysitter.

He locked the door behind him before heading out to his car. Zayn was lucky his parents weren’t home to stop him from going out, and that he had a car now. If he didn’t, he’d have no way to go find him.

Liam spent most of the drive anxiously jiggling his leg. He wished he could be one of those people who genuinely didn’t care about anyone. It would be a lot easier, because most of the people he cared about tended not to care about him nearly as much. Sure, his parents loved him, but he knew that his dad loved his talent more. And his mum loved her job more. And Zayn didn’t love him at all, not that he loved Zayn. But he did care about him, he couldn’t help it; Zayn was the kind of person that forced you to care about him, even if you didn’t want to. Even if _he_ didn’t want you to.

When Liam got to the statue of the goat, he didn’t find Zayn on top of it. He parked his car as close to it as he could. The street was littered with not just cars, but people, even though it was well past one in the morning. He could hear a group of properly intoxicated men singing Justin Bieber’s _Baby_ to a group of passing women.

When Liam got to the goat he frowned up at it, as if it could give him all the answers. The goat didn’t do anything, but someone moaned loudly and Liam moved to the other side of the statue to find a figure sprawled out underneath it.

It took him a moment to realize that it was _Zayn_. His hair wasn’t styled at all, but instead lay flat against his head. His shirt was gone, and he wasn’t wearing a coat, either, despite the fact that there was snow on the ground, for God’s sake.

“Zayn,” Liam said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Zayn’s skin was too hot, feverishly so. Liam started to feel panicked when Zayn didn’t answer. “Zayn!”

Zayn stirred and turned only his head to look at Liam. “Couldn’t climb it,” he said faintly. “Fell.”

“Damn it,” Liam muttered, bending down. He put a hand on Zayn’s arm and another on his waist and pulled him up. Zayn was deadweight in his arms, though, and Liam ended up having to throw him over his shoulder, fireman style.

“You’re like a Disney prince,” Zayn muttered against his back. “I kind of hate you.”

“Where’s your shirt?” Liam asked, ignoring him.

“My-- oh,” Zayn chuckled. “Some girl gave me fifteen quid to take it off. Then I lost it.”

“Do you have your keys?” Liam asked, feeling his patience wear thin. He could have died out there, in the snow, wearing hardly anything. And not a single person had stopped to check on him, or to make sure he had a ride home before he stumbled out of the club. It made Liam intensely furious, that this boy could have died and no one would have cared at all. “How am I supposed to get you inside your apartment?”

“No,” Zayn moaned against his back. “Don’t take me there. Liam, don’t. Please. Take me to Lou’s. Don’t want to be home.”

“Louis is in London with Harry.”

“Oh. Forgot.”

They made it back to Liam’s car and Liam put Zayn in the passenger seat before he dug around in the trunk for something for him to wear. All he had was his rugby uniform, though, and he had to settle for pulling the too thin material over Zayn’s head. When he got into the car, he turned the heat up immediately, thankful that it still worked in his old car.

As Liam drove slowly through downtown, careful to avoid any drunken pedestrians, he tried to think of what to do with Zayn. He couldn’t bring him to his own apartment, not when Zayn had so desperately asked him not to; he couldn’t bring him to Louis’, either, for obvious reasons; he had no idea who Zayn’s parents even were, let alone where they lived. In the end, there was really only one option, and he started driving home.

“Can I keep this?” Zayn asked, pulling at the neck of Liam’s jersey.

“No,” Liam told him.

“But I like it,” Zayn said sadly. Liam had never seen someone this level of intoxicated before, and that was saying something, because he’d seen Harry throw up on himself and continue dancing as if he was fine. Zayn was like a grownup child, pouting and whiny and so, so completely opposite to any Zayn Liam had ever met before.

Liam looked him over, at the way the shoulders of his jersey hung off Zayn, a bit too big for him. At the way his school colours looked against his skin, all red on caramel. And then there was the fact that the jersey was _his_ , had _his_ name on it; now so did Zayn. Liam liked it, too, but for completely different reasons than Zayn did.

By the time they made it to Liam’s, Zayn had fallen asleep with his face pressed to the window. When Liam walked over to the other side of the car and opened the door, there was a trail of drool on his window. Liam sighed for what felt like the millionth time that night and undid Zayn’s seatbelt and put his arms back around Zayn’s waist so he didn’t fall face first into the snow.

Unlocking the door with Zayn in his arms was difficult, even with Liam’s strength. Thankfully all those morning runs and afternoon practices gave him the ability to lift Zayn with only a little bit of effort, because if it had been, say, Louis or Harry or Niall who had to come get him, Liam didn’t think they’d of been able to do what he had.

Finally the key twisted in the lock and Liam carried Zayn over the threshold. He shut the door behind him with his foot and then paused. He could put Zayn on the couch. It was the best idea, really. He found himself climbing the stairs and heading to his bedroom anyways.

“You know,” Zayn said over his shoulder without any warning. Liam hadn’t realized he’d woken up. “I kind of wanted to fuck you since that first day. In front of the police station. You were sweaty. It was hot.”

Liam’s cheeks burned, and he tried his best to ignore everything that Zayn said. He knew that, if Zayn was sober, he wouldn’t normally say these things. In fact, he wouldn’t say anything to Liam, because sober Zayn didn’t talk to Liam at all.

Liam opened the door to his room and put Zayn on the ground. Zayn’s arms went around his waist, clinging to Liam as if he were the only thing in the world. Liam couldn’t help but wonder what that would feel like, to be Zayn’s whole world.

“Can you walk to the bed?” Liam asked.

“I’m keeping the jersey,” Zayn whispered against the crook of Liam’s neck, completely ignoring the question. “I want to keep you too, you know,” Zayn added. “’Cept I can’t. Not allowed. Can’t have you.”

“You could have,” Liam said softly. “But you didn’t want to.”

Zayn jerked back and nearly tripped over his own feet. Liam reached out quickly and grabbed him before guiding Zayn to the bed. Zayn fell onto it and Liam pulled off Zayn’s shoes before Zayn crawled up to the top of the bed and pulled the blankets over himself. He had his legs tucked up to his chest, and his hands, fingers curled around the blanket, tucked under his chin.

Liam flicked the light back off and went to move out the door when Zayn called, “Stay.”

Liam stopped, not turning around. “I can’t.” Because he couldn’t. If he stayed, it would be too much. It’d reopen those wounds that he’d healed after what had happened between them, and he didn’t have the energy to heal them again after this.

“I’m always alone, though,” Zayn said quietly. “I don’t want to be. But I am.”

Liam was quiet for a few moments, standing by the door. Zayn was still awake, though, he knew. His breathing was loud and uneven. “I think you choose to be alone,’ Liam admitted finally. “That’s how it feels, at least.”

“Sometimes,” Zayn agreed, “because it’s easier to choose to be alone then to be alone because you have to.”

Liam finally turned around. Zayn was in the exact same position, only now his eyes were closed. Against his better judgement, Liam walked over to the other side of the bed and pulled down the covers before kicking off his shoes. He climbed in beside Zayn, still wearing his jeans and t-shirt. He hated sleeping in jeans but he wasn’t about to sleep in his boxers beside Zayn.

Zayn didn’t turn over or curl up to him, and Liam was glad about that. He did, however, shift back just a bit so that he could reach his hand behind himself and encircle Liam’s wrist with it. His grip wasn’t tight, but it wasn’t loose, either.

“Zayn?” Liam asked, staring at the ceiling.

“Mm?”

“Tomorrow--,” Liam cleared his throat so that it wouldn’t sound so scratchy. “Tomorrow after you get home, do you think you could actually talk to me again afterwards? Without drinking half a liquor store first?”

Zayn’s grip on his wrist tightened for just a moment. “Promise.”

“Okay.”

Liam rolled over after that, laying on his side like Zayn was. He kept his arm stretched behind himself, though, despite the fact that it was uncomfortable, despite the fact that he could have easily broken Zayn’s grip on him. He just didn’t want to.

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

 

When he woke up, he was in a warm bed. He knew it wasn’t his own. The comforter didn’t smell like him, and it wasn’t the right material. It as soft and smelled like body spray, and Zayn rolled over to see who he’d find beside him.

It really shouldn’t have been a surprise, except it was. He didn’t remember how the hell he’d ended up there, with Liam sleeping beside him, in what must have been Liam’s bed. It shouldn’t have happened, because Zayn had _promised_ himself it wouldn’t. Had promised himself that he wasn’t going to do anything with Liam again.

He could have, he figured. He could have gotten Louis to get Liam’s number off of Harry or Niall. He could have given Liam his number in the first place. Hell, he could have showed up at Liam’s school and just spoken to him. But he hadn’t, because he really, really couldn’t.

The hook-up with Liam was a one time thing, and only that. Partially because it was starting to freak him out more than a little, just how often his thoughts drifted to Liam. But also because, in the end, he realized that he didn’t deserve someone like that. Someone who was genuinely good. Not when he’d just ruin it. He couldn’t be responsible for ruining someone else, too, on top of himself.

Liam was still asleep when Zayn swung his legs out of bed. He was laying on his side, but his arm was behind him in an awkward position, as if they’d been holding hands and he hadn’t wanted to let go. Zayn licked his lips and tore his eyes away, because he really hoped that wasn’t the case.

At least Liam was fully dressed, he realized. So nothing had actually happened. He’d probably been too drunk, actually, considering the fact that he couldn’t remember anything from last night.

He looked down at himself and took in the shirt he was wearing. That was not the black band shirt he’d worn when he’d left the house, tucked underneath his leather jacket. It was a different material, one he’d felt under his finger tips on two occasions. Zayn tiptoed out of the room, careful not to wake Liam, and tried to find the bathroom.

When he did locate the room, he turned on the light and softly closed the door behind himself before looking in the mirror. His hair was a limp mess. Had he even bothered to do it up last night, or had it just fallen from whatever the hell he’d done? Probably the second one. His lip was split, too, but after bending closer to the mirror to look at it, he figured it was from the cold as opposed to a fight.

And then there was the shirt. Liam’s school colours -- the bright red and the pure white and the black-- and, on the back, the number 19 and the name _Payne_. Zayn released the cloth after bunching it up to get a better look of the back on him. It hung off his shoulders a bit, and smelled so much like Liam.

Zayn splashed a bit of water onto his face before leaving the bathroom to head back to Liam’s. Thankfully, his phone was in his pocket. He didn’t have his wallet, though, so that explained why he’d gotten Liam to pick him up -- though he still couldn’t remember how the hell he’d gotten Liam’s number in the first place.

He needed to go home. He needed to shower and change and go back to sleep. He hated waking up early, and it _had_ to be early, given the lack of light filtering in through the window. On a good day he slept in until eleven. Sometimes later.

Except he had no idea how to get there. He didn’t have any money on him, he didn’t have a coat to wear to walk. And he really, really didn’t want to wake Liam up and explain to him that he was suffocating just being in the same room with him. Because he was. His head was feeling lighter the longer he was in Liam’s room, and his heart was pounding in his chest. He was freaking out, just a bit, and he had no idea why.

Then he spotted the burgundy sweater hanging off the back of the chair tucked under the desk. Zayn could admit to stealing a few quid out of the pockets of someone he’d went home with while drunk, just enough to take a cab a cab home. But Zayn couldn’t make himself do that to the still sleeping Liam. So instead he tugged on the red sweater, over top of the jersey, and shut the door behind himself.

When he got outside, he was still a bit cold. The sweater was thick and warm, but it was a lot colder outside than he’d anticipated.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he started walking, and he found Liam’s contact name easily. He was saved under _Pain_ , and Zayn wondered if that was just his drunk mind being idiotic and incapable of spelling, or it if was his drunken mind’s way of being tragically ironic. Probably the second one. He hated himself sometimes.

While he was looking at his phone, he vaguely remembered making a promise to Liam last night, just before he‘d fallen asleep. With a sigh he pulled up his contact page and make good with that promise, sending a quick text that read, ‘ _I have your sweater. Had to head home. Emergency. Come get it later, yeah? -- Zayn_ ’.

He zipped the sweater up over the jersey and then decided that Liam was going to have to physically remove that piece of clothing from his body, because he could come get the sweater, but the jersey he wasn’t getting back, if Zayn had any say in it. Not that Zayn could figure out why he wanted it so badly. He just did.

By the time he got home, he was freezing and his shoes were soaked through with melted snow. He trudged into his apartment, stripped of Liam’s sweater, and went straight into the bathroom for a warm shower. He turned on the hot water until it was scalding and then undressed, carefully hanging Liam’s jersey on the door so it didn’t get wet or dirty from whatever might possibly be on his floor.

The water did little to warm him, for some reason. He felt too cold, to the point where the cold started feeling burning hot. His skin prickled in pain when the water hit him, but he didn’t get out. Instead, he sat down at let it run over him, willing it to do what it was supposed to: make him feel warm and clean. It didn’t.

When he got out of the shower he towelled off and left his dirty clothes in the bathroom. In his room, he pulled on a pair of grey sweat pants and then went back to the bathroom to grab Liam’s jersey. Liam would probably think he was weird for wearing it, but he was putting it on anyways.

It was only eight in the morning, he realized when he checked his phone. He didn’t even feel like sleeping anymore, either. He could call Steve, see if anyone needed anything. He wasn’t hurting for money at the moment at all. The holidays were a good time to sell because everyone was looking to party.

“You’d make a lot more money if you started selling other stuff,” Steve had commented the other day.

Zayn had raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”

Steve shrugged. “I can get you anything. Pills, coke. Whatever. There’s way more money in it than there is selling weed.”

Zayn had frowned and looked down. He’d love to make more money, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to get involved in shit like that. “Nah,” Zayn told him. “I’m good doing what I do.”

Steve had shrugged again. “Suit yourself. Just remember that I can hook you up.”

Zayn just didn’t have the energy to deal with those people right then. He didn’t want to talk to Steve, or any of the other people who bought off him. In the end he turned off his phone all together and shoved it into one of the drawers of his side table.

Zayn took a really long look at his room, and then, without even really thinking about it, he started cleaning. Properly cleaning. He got all his dirty clothes into the hamper, put the clean ones that he’d just dumped on the side of his bed that he didn’t sleep on in the dresser. He hung up his sweaters, even folded his freaking socks together.

There was some weird shit in his room, to be completely honest. Empty food containers, condoms-- not used, though there were a few empty condom _wrappers_ under the bed --, two pairs of girls underwear, and a pair of boxers with hearts on them that he knew didn’t belong to him, because he wouldn’t own something that stupid.

Halfway though cleaning his room he realized that he’d lost his wallet. All his ID, about twenty quid, and a gram or two of weed, gone. He was going to have to call the club he’d went to last night and see if they found it. And, once he realized that, he remembered that his jacket was gone, too, and that had him groaning loudly. He loved that jacket. It was his signature jacket.

“Fuck,” Zayn said quietly. How had he let this shit happen? Why had he let himself get so fucked that he couldn’t remember anything?

He thought back to not just last night, but the last week. First with Christmas, and then waking up passed out in the bathroom with a crack in his phone screen. He remembered Harry’s voicemail that he’d left, the one where he’d said-- he’d said things that couldn’t really be true, Zayn knew, because Liam couldn’t love him. People didn’t really love Zayn because there was something wrong with him. Maybe it wasn’t much of a surprise that he’d kept drinking last night until he could no longer remember his own name.

There wasn’t anything he could do about his jacket right then, though, so he just went back to cleaning. It took him the better half of the morning to do the whole apartment. He had a vacuum stuck in the back of his closet. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d used it. Apparently, his carpet was brown, not black. Who knew.

He had to make three trips downstairs to throw out the bags of garbage, and he tried really hard not to think about how gross that was, because it was pretty freaking gross.

When he got back upstairs and pushed open the door to his apartment, he found Louis standing in the living room, eyes wide. “Your carpet is brown,” he said, sounding shocked.

Zayn narrowed his eyes. “Your eye’s going to be black if you don’t shut up.”

“Oh, you’re in a mood,” Louis realized, flopping onto the couch. “Would it cheer you up if I told you that I hate my life about as much as you do?”

Zayn sighed. “I really, really doubt that’s possible.”

Louis patted the spot on the couch beside him and said, “Sit, come on. Also, this place looks great. Did you kidnap a child and force them into being your cleaning slave?”

Zayn sat down and ran a hand through his hair. It was dry now, and since he hadn’t brushed it or anything it stuck out in weird ways, like he was a hamster or something. It annoyed him. “No, I was just-- I had nothing better to do.”

“Huh. I figured you’d be nursing a brilliant hangover, considering the state you were in last night when you called me to get Liam’s number. I distinctly remember the words, ‘I can’t get his eyes out of my head. They’re like-- they’re--’ and then you sighed loudly like a school girl with her first crush.”

Zayn wished he hadn’t cleaned up so that he’d have something to throw at Louis’ head. “Shut up,” Zayn snapped. “I don’t even remember calling you.”

Louis raised his eyebrows. “Jesus, what did you drink?”

“I don’t really know,” Zayn admitted, sinking farther back into the couch. He leaned his head against the cushion and closed his eyes. “I woke up in Liam’s bed. That’s pretty much the sum of what I know.”

“I thought you didn’t want him anymore,” Louis said casually. “Guess that changed.”

“I didn’t,” Zayn said firmly. “You weren’t here, I guess I needed to call someone, and--,”

“And you just ended up taking his rugby shirt. And put it back on even after you got home, showered, and changed.”

Zayn looked down at the shirt, guilty. “Why are you even here?”

“Oh,” Louis snapped his fingers. “I have a lot to tell you. Unlike you, I unfortunately have a very vivid memory of every detail of my night with Harry.”

“And?”

“And,” Louis sighed and pulled his legs up underneath him. “We had ice cream, and watched the fireworks, and then he kissed me to prove that not everyone gave a shit if anyone was gay or not. And then we got drunk and he kissed me again -- right after I got off the phone with your drunk arse, actually-- and we went back to the hotel room to find Niall in bed with Harry’s sister, after which we got our own hotel room and Harry slept on the floor.”

Zayn’s eyebrows rose. “Impressive.”

“Not really,” Louis said delicately. “I liked it, you know. When he kissed me. A lot. And I like him. A lot. And it’s freaking me the fuck out.”

Zayn looked at him for a moment. Louis was probably the most composed person Zayn had ever met, but in that moment Zayn could pick out the cracks in the armour. His hair was done, but it looked half assed. His shirt was wrinkled, and he had bags under his eyes and cracked lips.

“What about Eleanor?” Zayn asked finally.

Louis groaned and flopped down so that his head was in Zayn’s lap. “I don’t _know_. That’s the thing. Also, did you know that my father’s apparently homophobic?”

“Yeah,” Zayn said quietly. “I knew that.”

“Oh,” Louis blinked. “I’m sorry.”

Zayn shrugged. “Don’t be.”

“Okay.”

There was a knock at Zayn’s door and he frowned. Louis sat up just enough for him to answer the door and then proceeded to put his head on the spot Zayn had just been sitting on. Zayn headed to the door, wondering who it was and why they hadn’t called first, before remembering that he’d turned his phone off.

When he pulled open the door, Liam gave him a once over and frowned. “You’re still wearing it.”

Zayn looked down at the jersey again and this time he really, really regretted wearing it. “I just threw it on.”

Liam blinked at him. “That’s fine. I’ve got an extra anyways, and the season’s over, so…”

Zayn’s stomach twisted. Liam was saying he could keep it. And that shouldn’t have made him feel finally warm, but it did. And he resented that. “Any reason you’re here?”

“Um, you sent me a text? Telling me to come get my sweater?” Liam looked nervous. He had his hands buried deeply in the pockets of his navy blue jacket.

“Oh, right,” Zayn nodded and stepped back. “I’ll get it. Just wait here.”

“Hello, Liam!” Louis called from the living room. “Thank you for taking care of my Zayn last night. God only knows he needs someone to take care of him.”

Zayn sent him a glare when he passed by on the way to his room. He grabbed Liam’s sweater from where he’d hung it on the door and carried it back out to him.

“Thanks,” Liam said quietly. He didn’t turn to leave yet, though, and Zayn waited, knowing he wanted to say something. “Um, do you think-- would it be okay if I called you? Tomorrow, or something?”

Zayn chewed the inside of his lip. A war raged inside of him, one side screaming no, the other screaming yes. The side screaming no reminded him that he didn’t want Liam. Wasn’t _allowed_ to. That Liam wouldn’t want him, either, after he really got to know Zayn. The side screaming yes didn’t give a shit. It just wanted to run its hands through Liam’s hair and kiss him and not let him leave.

“Okay,” Zayn agreed.

Liam grinned. “Great, I--,”

“Should call Harry first. Or Niall. They’re both having incredibly large breakdowns, I think.” Louis’ voice was loudly drifting through the apartment. “Harry and I walked into the hotel room to find Niall and Harry’s sister -- lovely girl, by the way-- in an extremely compromising position.”

Liam’s mouth fell open. “Shit,” he mumbled. “He was supposed to _tell_ him, not have him walk in on them. I-- I’ve got to go and do damage control. Crap. This is really bad. This is so bad.”

“You knew?” Louis asked.

“Um.”

“I wouldn’t tell him that,” Louis advised. “I don’t think he could take three betrayals in twenty four hours, especially not when one of them is you.”

Liam nodded and looked at Zayn. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Zayn nodded, and when Liam was gone he locked the door to his apartment. He went back to the living room with Louis afterwards, and he couldn’t help it; he smiled down at the jersey.

“Oh my God,” Louis whispered, watching him. Zayn looked up sharply to find Louis giving him a concerned look. “He’s broken you, hasn’t he?”

Zayn blinked and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Come here,” Louis advised, holding out his arm. Zayn curled up again him and Louis patted his back sympathetically. “We’re so fucked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. This is the longest chapter I've written for this fic, so I hope that satisfies the few people who were asking for updates! Sorry for being a lazy bugger. I planned to update this last night, but then I watched the new episode of the Walking Dead and I was just too much of an emotional wreck to do anything but cry NO DARLY MY BABY WHAT ARE YOU DOING. So... I apologize for that, guys.


	8. Chapter 8

**Harry**

Harry woke up with a kink in his neck and his feet freezing cold. The couch had been way too lumpy and short to sleep on, so he’d curled up on the floor. It was either that or sleep in bed with Louis, and he knew that he was about as invited to do that as he was inclined to actually ask Louis if he could. The blanket he’d pulled off the back of the couch was short and scratchy, but he hadn’t really cared. He just wanted to sleep before he really snapped on someone.

Now, Harry looked over to Louis’ sleeping form. He was laying on his front, blankets pushed off himself to the end of the bed so they were almost falling on Harry. Harry wondered if that was a deliberate move on his part or not, and figured it wasn’t.

Making as little noise as he could, Harry got up and went to the door before ducking out it and heading down the hall. He knocked on Niall and Gemma’s -- his blood boiled just thinking that-- door.

It took a minute for the door to open, and when it did Niall swallowed noticeably. “Hi.”

“She still in there?” Harry demanded.

Niall nodded and opened the door. Gemma was sitting on the bed, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. Niall was dressed, too, and when he went back into the room, with Harry following, he stayed as far from Gemma as he could.

“Coming to chew us out?” Gemma asked, her voice steely.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and then uncrossed them. The thing was, he wasn’t just angry -- not that he wasn’t angry, because he was--, he was _hurt_. Gemma was his sister, for crying out loud, and Niall had become one of his best friends, closely following behind Liam. And last night? Last night obviously hadn’t been the first time. You didn’t just-- just run away to another city together without having some kind of past history.

He figured that they must have been doing this behind his back for quiet sometime, and that was like a stab in the chest. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that this always happened to him, no matter who it was, he couldn’t rely on anyone, really, to tell him the truth or be honest with him or to be there for him. Except maybe Liam.

“I just--,” Harry shook his head. “I just don’t understand how the fuck this happened, honestly. How either of you could do this to me.”

Niall was sat on the couch, looking down at his hands. Gemma, on the other hand, stood up. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed, “make this about you, Harry. You know _damn well_ that this isn’t something we did _to_ you. We did this for us. Yes, I get that you’re hurt. You have every right to be. But don’t act as if we maliciously planned this behind your back just to hurt you.”

“We didn’t,” Niall said honestly. “Really. I-- I don’t really know how it happened. I didn’t know she was your sister when I first met her, honest, and then it just-- it just escalated, and I guess I figured that, as much as I didn’t want you to be upset, I couldn’t stop liking her.”

Gemma looked at him, her expression softening, and that was about it for Harry. “This is such bullshit. You knew I’d react this way. And I honestly can’t believe you guys came _here_ , when you knew I was in London. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

“We were going to tell you,” Gemma snapped at him.

“When? After the marriage?”

“After she went back to Uni,” Niall cut in.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “After she went back,” Harry repeated. “And how long has this been going on?”

Niall opened his mouth to answer but Gemma cut him off. “Look, Harry, we have a bus to catch in about half an hour, and _you_ have an extremely attractive boy waiting in bed for you, do you not?” Harry’s cheeks burned but he didn’t bother pointing out that Louis wasn’t waiting for him, and that he hadn’t slept with him, either. “So you stay here, continue being pissed, and when we get back home you can yell at us all you want, yeah?”

Harry blinked. He didn’t want to wait. He wanted to yell at them now. But he couldn’t deny they had to go, and he and Louis should probably get up and start heading home, too.

“Fine,” Harry said quietly.

He left them then before he ended up yelling again. When he got back to the room, Louis was sitting up in bed. He yawned and stretched when Harry came in, and Harry averted his eyes, trying not to pay attention to the way his shirt rode up.

“Morning,” Louis said in a slow, tired drawl.

“Morning,” Harry said, falling onto the couch. “You about ready to check out soon?”

Louis blinked at him. “What, no breakfast?”

Harry sighed. “Right, sorry. You get something. I’m not hungry.”

He could feel Louis’ eyes on him, and Harry decided that he didn’t like it. Why the hell was it okay for Louis to see this side of him when Louis didn’t open himself up to Harry at all? When they’d kissed last night, and Louis had seemed-- he’d seemed so into it, and then he’d thrown up walls that would give China a run for their money, blocking Harry’s access to him completely.

Louis must have sensed his mood because he didn’t say anything after that. He just got out of bed, pulling on his shoes, and said, “Let’s just go.”

Harry nodded. He was done with this trip. What had started out as fun and light had turned to shit, and he just wanted to go home and change and then go to Liam’s and curl up in his bed with Liam while Liam listened to him bitch about everything. Because Liam would be there, and Liam would be reassuring and wonderful, unlike everyone else. Liam, at that moment, was possibly the only person Harry didn’t feel animosity towards.

Even his mum wasn’t in his good books at the moment, not after the argument they’d had a few days ago about whether or not he was going to go back to his dad’s. Harry had pointed out that she’d _promised_ it would only be until Christmas hols, and she’d pointed out that he’d been fine there. That it hadn’t been as bad as he thought, and that he was doing better there.

It was all such bullshit.

The car ride was spent listening to his new CDs , stopping only once to get Louis something to eat. There wasn’t any talking or laughter or good times to be had like on the way there. Whenever the music was quiet enough to talk, neither of them bothered, so Harry would turn it back up to drown out everything that was left unsaid. He did that a lot, and he wished he didn’t have to do it with Louis, but he figured that wasn’t going to change between them ever again. Louis was closed off to him, and Harry wanted to be closed off to Louis in retaliation. Maybe he couldn’t build up walls like Louis, but he could create his own with deafening music.

When they got to Harry’s, Harry stayed in the car while Louis got into his. He waved with a weak smile on his face as he drove away, and Harry couldn’t even muster the energy to attempt to return it.

When he got in the house his mother swooped in like a hawk, a distrustful expression on her face. “Who was that?” she asked.

Harry stared at her before realizing who she meant. “Louis.”

“And why was Louis’ car in our driveway the whole night while you were supposedly at Liam’s?”

Harry hadn’t thought that through when he’d lied and told his mum he was spending the night at Liam’s. He just figured that she wouldn’t exactly be supportive of him running away to London on New Years eve.

“Because Liam’s lot was filled with his car and mine, and Louis was coming over for the night, so I told him just to park at our place and I’d drive him over there,” Harry said quickly. He didn’t like lying to his mum even more, because he knew he hated being lied to himself, but he didn’t have a choice. She was still upset over everything else he’d done, he figured she wouldn’t appreciate this on top of it.

“Oh,” his mum said. “Right. And who is Louis again?”

“He lives by John,” Harry answered. “Can I go upstairs now?”

His mum nodded and Harry headed towards his room before realizing something. “Where are Gem and Niall?”

“Oh, Niall came back before you did and said he had to run off to work, and Gemma’s gone to catch up with a few friends who’re also back for the hols.”

Harry cocked his head to the side, letting this settle, and then let out an annoyed, rage filled sound and stomped the rest of the way to his room. He went straight to the stereo system that wasn’t nearly as good as the one at John’s and shoved in the first CD his hand touched in the bag.

He fell onto the bed as it played and stared up at the ceiling. He was very aware, thank you, that he was being a typical, clichéd, angst filled teenager in that moment, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

The CD sucked, and Harry stood up and ejected it from the stereo before snapping it in half and tossing it in the trash. He grabbed a change of clothes and a towel and headed to the bathroom. He took a record-breakingly fast shower and then dressed.

He called a quick, “Going back to Liam’s,” over his shoulder as he left.

The drive to Liam’s felt too short, and then Harry was pulling into an empty driveway with a frown. Liam had gotten a car for Christmas. Harry had _seen_ it. It wasn’t in the driveway.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled Liam’s number while he parked his car in front of Liam’s house. Liam answered on the fifth ring-- something that rarely happened with him, because Liam answered his phone right away, always.

“Hi,” Liam said quietly, and Harry could hear the sound of cars in the distance, like he was outside.

“I’m at your house, can you come home? If you’re busy, it’s fine,” Harry told him. He didn’t want to be an inconvenience. He just genuinely needed his best friend in a way that he hadn’t in so long.

Over the years, Harry could admit that a couple people had asked him why he was friends with Liam. Those people weren’t worth his time after that, but Harry did take the question into consideration now.

Harry had a flighty personality. He liked things a lot for a short period of time. He got into football in sixth year, and dropped off the team before the season was over. He tried to learn the guitar when he was thirteen and gave up before he’d finished learning how to play a whole song. He was constantly trying to fill the boredom with anything, always on the go in some way.

Liam was the opposite. He was calm and careful about everything. When Liam set out to do something, he did it. If he didn’t, he’d beat himself up over it. Liam was comfortable sitting around and enjoying things, while Harry was always looking for the next thing to do.

Some people called Liam boring. Harry could see it, maybe, if they didn’t really know him, which most people didn’t. But Liam was funny, and loyal. So many times over the years Harry had done a lot of stupid shit. If Harry was his own best mate, he’d of ditched himself off a long time ago. Liam stayed anyways.

Harry remembered the first time he’d met Liam, at lunch during school. He was sitting alone while a few other kids snickered near by. With those huge ears and that giant nose and those freakishly large eyes, all made to look bigger with the buzz cut of his hair, Liam didn’t fit in. But Harry didn’t fit in, either. He was dorky and laughed too loud at things other kids didn’t find funny. Except Liam found them funny, too, and maybe that was why Harry stuck himself to Liam’s side, and Liam allowed him to stay there.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Liam promised, and Harry smiled, feeling the ball of whatever the hell that was in his stomach loosen, just a bit.

Harry put his phone back in his pocket and pulled the keys out of the ignition before adding them to his pocket, too. He got out of the car and leaned against it, enjoying the feel of the cool air on his cheeks.

Liam pulled in not long after, and he didn’t say anything to Harry as he headed into the house. He just unlocked the door and left it open for Harry to follow, and they ended up upstairs in Liam’s room, laying on his bed opposite of each other, feet by the other’s head.

“Do you think I’m being irrational?” Harry asked quietly.

Liam shook his head. “No,” he promised. “I think you have every right to be angry with them. But I think you should listen to their side of the story too, right? I mean-- Niall really likes her. He told me.”

Harry sat up fast, staring down at Liam. “You knew.” It was a statement, not a question. “And you didn’t tell me.”

Liam sat up, too, and he gave Harry a helpless look. “I didn’t until last night. I promise.”

Harry sighed, and he wondered why it didn’t feel like a betrayal, Liam knowing. It should have. He should have added Liam to the people on his list of, “I don’t want to talk to any of you” but he couldn’t.

“I just hate this,” Harry admitted. “I don’t want to be mad at everyone, you know? But it’s like-- they all lied to me. And kept it from me. And it’s just-- I don’t know. I guess I’m just sick of trusting people who don’t deserve it.”

“They deserve it,” Liam told him. “Niall deserves it, and Gemma’s your sister. They didn’t want to hurt you. It just happened.”

“It just happened,” Harry repeated. “It’s like no one has control over themselves. Do you know what I wanted to do yesterday? All day? I wanted to kiss him, Li, and I didn’t, because I knew I couldn’t. I knew I wasn’t allowed, and I didn’t, until he kissed me _first_.”

Liam sat up again, eyes wide. “You kissed Louis?” he demanded.

Harry groaned. “Yes, and it was fucking perfect, and now he won’t even look me in the eyes.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Liam said softly, “I found Zayn passed out under the goat statue last night without a shirt on.”

Harry tried to picture this, tried to see Zayn, with his above everything look on his face and his perfect hair and his cigarette dangling in his hands, passed out beneath the goat with no shirt on. He ended up laughing loudly, but for once Liam didn’t join him.

Harry looked at his best friend and frowned. “What else?” Harry asked.

Liam turned to him now, too, and his eyebrows were drawn together. “Brought him home, he slept in my bed. With me. And then he was gone when I woke up.”

“Prick,” Harry murmured, putting a hand on Liam’s ankle. “You do realize, Liam, that you’re, like, a fantastic person, right? And you’re actually hot as fuck?”

Liam snorted. “I’m really not, but thanks.”

“No, I mean it,” Harry told him seriously. “And I really don’t get why you’ve never realized that about yourself. And it’s crap that you’re finally into someone and they treat you like shit.”

Liam smiled at him. “It’s not like he promised me anything, you know. I knew what I was getting into.”

“I thought I did, too,” Harry said slowly. “But then I ran head first into Louis Tomlinson without even meaning to, and now I’m fucked. And I think you’re fucked, too, mate.”

Liam ignored this. “I actually saw Louis today. I went to Zayn’s after to get my sweater back from him, and Louis was on the couch. He looks about as shitty as I think you feel.”

“Really?” Harry asked, and he knew he shouldn’t have been happy about that, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe he’d done as much of a number on Louis as Louis had done on him.

“Yeah,” Liam answered. “Is liking someone supposed to make you feel like shit? Or do we just suck at it?”

“Both, I think,” Harry admitted. “Yeah, both.”

 

* * *

 

**Niall**

Gemma went back to Uni. She took the train there, and Niall accompanied Harry and Anne to the station with her. Harry didn’t even make a comment when Niall hugged her goodbye.

They’d talked it out. It had been awkward and uncomfortable and Harry was still pissed, but he wasn’t yelling anymore and he didn’t hate Niall, either.

When Niall had gotten home later that night after returning from London, Harry had just gotten home from Liam’s. He had sat down on the bed while Niall said, “I can pack my stuff, if you want.”

And Harry had just gaped at him, a look of complete surprise on his face. “What?”

Niall shrugged. “I reckon you want to get rid of me as quickly as you can.”

Harry shook his head. “No-- Niall, no, honestly, what is wrong with you?” Harry demanded. “I’m pissed at you. Unbelievably pissed, actually, and I will be for, like, ever, but I’m not kicking you out. I’m not forcing you to go back there, not after what’s happened, and definitely not after they just let you go, let you live with us without even calling you to check up. What kind of parent does that?” Harry continued. “What kind of parent just abandons their fucking kid, doesn’t check to see if maybe their kid _needs_ them, or wants to talk to them? It’s--,”

“Harry,” Niall had said quietly, eyes downcast. It hurt, hearing that, because it was true. His parents hadn’t bothered to really associate with him at all since he’d moved out. Not even his mum, really. It was like he’d gone off to Uni a year early, except he was still in the same city. In fact, right then he was only a ten minute walk from his parent’s house. And neither of them bridged that distance.

It wasn’t easy for Niall, either, no matter how much he hated his dad and was hurt by his mum. They were his parents, and he’d always thought that, no matter how shit it was, they’d want him. And they didn’t. They let him go like he was nothing, just a burden that they’d managed to shuck off to someone else.

“Niall,” Harry stood up, and he had this frustrated, angry, hurt look on his face. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just--,”

“No, it’s fine,” Niall told him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Harry nodded and sat down on his bed. “I know how that feels, you know,” he said under his breath. Niall looked up at him sharply and Harry collapsed back on the bed. “John wasn’t around for most of my life. It was just me, mum and Gemma. And then one day he was there, like every day. And then, after that, when I was finally used to having him around, he was just… gone again. No goodbye, no way to contact him. He’d just disappeared.”

Niall had never heard Harry talk about it before. He knew Harry had issues with his dad, he’d just never figured out what they were.

“And then he comes back, you know, like he has a right to. And he doesn’t,” Harry told him. Then Harry sat up and frowned. “Sorry, I just made that all about me. But what I’m saying is-- we like having you here, yeah? And I’m not kicking you out, not for that. Not when-- not when you two genuinely seem to care about each other,” he said that with a disgusted look on his face. “But I don’t want to see it. Or hear about it. Or really know about it. I’d like to erase all of last night from my memory, actually.”

“Even the parts with Louis?” Niall questioned.

“Even those,” Harry agreed.

“I’m sorry, if it counts for anything,” Niall said as he sat down beside Harry.

“You better be, you prick.”

“I thought you were going to punch me in the face.”

“I was,” Harry admitted. “I seriously considered it.”

Niall smiled weakly at his friend. “Glad you didn’t. This face is too pretty.”

Harry shoved him roughly and Niall fell back onto the bed, laughing, until Harry couldn’t help but join in.

A few days later, Niall hugged Gemma after Anne and Harry, and Gemma quietly promised to call him soon. He knew she would, too. He wasn’t sure about a lot of things, like how the hell this was going to work, or if Anne would be happy for them or as angry as Harry had been, but he was sure about that.

Harry and Niall’s friendship was definitely a bit strained still, though. He noticed that sometimes Harry would take a beat too long to laugh at something, or Niall would tip toe around Harry to make sure he wasn’t going to upset him again.

They stayed at Anne’s though, after school started up again, and Niall moved into Gemma’s room. Well, it used to be Gemma’s room, but after she’d went to Uni Harry’s mum had made it into more of a guest room, no longer holding any of her personal items. The pillows smelled like her citrus shampoo, though, not that Niall paid a lot of attention to it. Or he tried not to, at least.

After a few days everything settled and went back to normal. They’d been off community service for the hols, and they had to pick it up again. Harry threw trash at him occasionally, and Niall forcibly tried to pick Harry up and put him in one of the bins. He also continued work, which he didn’t mind all that much. His coworkers were cool, especially Danielle, who he went to school with.

The three of them spent more time together again, no longer extending their circle to include Louis, or sometimes Zayn. At least, that’s what Niall assumed. He figured that Harry could still be talking to Louis, though he doubted it, because Harry got this closed off look on his face every time Louis was mentioned. And Liam was talking to Zayn, a bit. They texted, occasionally. Or, more often, Liam would text Zayn, and hours later, Liam would get a text back and smile like a kid on Christmas. Neither Harry nor Niall commented on it, though Niall knew that Harry felt the same way he did about the situation; Liam deserved better. Liam deserved someone who was going to text him back minutes later, instead of hours. Someone who brightened when Liam texted them first, instead of brushing it off.

That someone, apparently, was going to be Danielle. It was Harry’s idea. He’d come in to work to pick up Niall one day, and Danielle had served him before the two of them got to talking. Harry said she was cute and bubbly but also a bit sassy, which was, apparently, “The perfect combination.”

Niall didn’t mention the fact that he practically just described Louis. Harry wouldn’t of appreciated it.

Neither of them knew how to introduce the two of them, though. But they would. Somehow.

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

He didn’t have any plans for his birthday. In fact, barely anyone he _knew_ actually knew his birthday was coming up. Not that he talked to a lot of people, really, but he talked to Liam, occasionally, and Steve almost daily, and there were a few other people he sold to who could be considered acquaintances. And yet, Louis was the only one who had any idea.

Zayn was on the bus when Louis sent him a text. He looked down at it, frowning.

_WHAT ARE WE DOING FOR YOUR B-DAY? TXT ME BACK RIGHT AWAY YOU PRICK --Louis_

Louis texted in all caps more often than not. It was headache inducing. But it was also better than the song lyrics that he’d taken to texting Zayn. “This was from the third song on the CD Harry made me,” Louis would say after sending him a chunk of text that was just lines from a song that Zayn didn’t recognize. “What do you think that _means_?”

Zayn had rolled his eyes the first few times and texted back a quick, “I don’t know.” After that, though, his patience started to wear thin, and he’d say something along the lines of, “That he’s in love with you,” or “That you’re a massively annoying prick.”

Weirdly enough, Louis responded worse to the first one, sending Zayn a message filled with an array of colourful words, including ‘dickbucket’.

The thing was, Zayn didn’t mind Louis’ annoying infatuation with Harry. Except Louis couldn’t admit it. After that first day back, Louis had pushed away any implications that he liked Harry as more than a casual friend. He ignored all of Harry’s texts, too, until Harry just stopped texting him back altogether.

Now, Zayn stared down at the text, wondering how to reply. He didn’t have any plans, but if he said that, Louis would definitely make plans for them, ones that Zayn would end up hating. So he lied and sent a text telling Louis that he was having a party at his place.

_Invite wonder boy and the curly one, too. I’ll invite Niall. --Louis_

Zayn swallowed. He texted Liam, a bit, but not really. Liam text him more often, and Zayn tended to ignore it for as long as he could, which was about three hours, at which point he would cave and text Liam back, because he couldn’t _not_.

They hadn’t seen each other since New Years, though, and Zayn found himself tugging on that stupid jersey more often than not. He almost wanted to give it back to Liam, just so he wouldn’t have the opportunity to wear it, but every time he decided to bring it to him, he stopped himself and put it back in his dresser, or at the end of the bed, or hanging from the doorknob or, once, he just pulled it on over top of his other t-shirt and wore it around the house. It didn’t even smell like Liam anymore, but that didn’t really matter, apparently.

The thing was, sometimes when Liam would text him, Zayn would feel short of breath, like he couldn’t make his lungs work, and his head would start pounding from the lack of oxygen. They were like mini panic attacks, and they were because Liam terrified him. Terrified him, because it was like everything Zayn did, he managed to find a way to connect it to Liam, and he didn’t even _know_ Liam, really. Not well. He couldn’t help but wonder what the hell would happen to him if he really did, if they were closer. He’d probably suffocate.

It was against his better judgement when he texted Louis back, agreeing to inviting Harry and Liam. And he figured it was against Louis’ better judgement to tell him to invite Harry, so he guessed that made them even, sort of. If it got too much during the night, Louis would be there to whisk Zayn away from him, and Zayn would do the same with Louis and Harry.

That was if they even agreed to come.

He really shouldn’t have worried about that, because it was Liam, for God’s sake. Liam, who was too eager to please everyone, and that extended to Zayn, too, despite how much Zayn had done to not deserve that.

_We’ll be there. :) xx-- Liam_

Zayn groaned. He even texted cute. That had to be some kind of criminal offence.

Louis arrived early to his house on his birthday, which was conveniently on a Saturday. He was drooping with the weight of the various bags he carried, one of which he was managing to hold with his mouth. Zayn raised his eyebrows and didn’t make a move to help him.

“Thanks,” Louis spat. “The fact that it’s your birthday doesn’t give you the right to be a dick.”

Zayn grinned. “I’m pretty sure it does.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Anyways,” he dramatically swiped a piece of hair off his forehead, “I am the best friend in the entire world. And do you know why?”

Zayn shook his head. “Absolutely no idea why anyone would give you that title.”

“Don’t be a sarcastic prick,” Louis told him. “I’ve got here a birthday cake, a lasagne from that place on Milton that you _adore_ , all of the Lord of the Rings movies-- because you’re a dork--, and enough alcohol to kill an elephant. You’re also lucky that I’m of age. Oh, wait, so are you now.”

Zayn frowned at him, ignoring that last part. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Louis shrugged and put the bags on the kitchen counter. “I did, actually, because if I didn’t, no one would. You have a terrible habit of not spending money wisely, and I happen to love shopping, so it’s a win/win situation for all.”

Without thinking about it, Zayn moved forward and wrapped his arms around Louis in a tight hug. “You’re a pretentious dick, but I kind of love you anyways.”

“Aw,” Louis patted his head. “I love you too. Now go shower. And shave. You look homeless.”

“You look homeless,” Zayn countered, but he headed towards the bathroom anyways. He took a quick shower, hot water running out faster than usual. He took Louis’ advice, too, and shaved, but not cleanly. He liked the stubble.

When he got out of the shower Louis frowned at him. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, and his damp hair dripped water onto his shoulder. “If I’m gay,” Louis said, looking at Zayn like he was a science experiment, “why don’t I have a boner right now? You’re incredibly attractive, and yet--,” he waved a hand. “Nothing. Little Louis is limp as cooked spaghetti.”

Zayn made a face at him. “Thanks for that imagery.”

Louis shrugged, unaffected, and turned on Zayn’s shitty radio. He watched Louis slip in a CD and made a face, having no doubt in his mind that it was one of Harry’s mixes. He was going to have to tell Harry to make Louis a new one, because at this point, even Zayn knew all the lyrics to the songs off by heart. It was ridiculous.

Zayn dressed quickly, not really caring what he wore. It was only going to be a handful of people, which really only included Liam, Niall, Harry, Louis and Eleanor. He wondered how _that_ was going to play out, knowing what had happened between Harry and Louis. He just hoped that Louis would refrain from getting too drunk to do anything stupid.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper birthday party. All the other years it had just been him and Louis, and they’d eat cake and stuff their faces with pizza in Louis’ basement. He wasn’t sure when the hell they’d decided to extend their twosome to a five-some, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it, either. He liked Harry and Niall just fine, when they weren’t yelling at him or trying to protect Liam’s innocence. And Liam-- it wasn’t like they were hanging out on their own. It was a group setting. It was platonic, and that was fine. As long as it wasn’t anything more than that, he could still tell himself that Liam didn’t really matter all that much to him, either way.

Everyone was supposed to be there around eight, but Louis pulled out the cake at around seven, while Zayn busied himself with the rolling of the joint. It was a bit of a tradition, really, the giant birthday spliff, lit by the flame from the candle. They did it at Louis’ birthday, too; his _real_ birthday, not the party, and they had since they were old enough to try their first joint.

“Happy birthday, Zaynie,” Louis said, plucking the lighter from Zayn’s fingers to light the candle. Zayn leaned forward and pressed the tip of the joint into the flame, inhaling deeply. When he exhaled, the candle went out and Louis cheered.

“You know,” Louis commented, sitting back on the couch, “this place isn’t really that bad.”

Zayn cocked an eyebrow at him. “You still refuse to bring more then twenty pounds with you when you come here in case you get jumped.”

Louis waved a hand. “I don’t mean the building, or the location. I mean the apartment itself. We could paint it. It’d be nice.”

Zayn snorted and took another drag from the joint. “What colour would we paint it?”

Louis grabbed the joint from him, busying himself with smoking it while he thought. “A bunch of different ones,” Louis decided. “You’ve got no adults to tell you not to. And we both know you’re good at art. We should do it.”

Zayn shrugged. “Okay.”

Louis grinned widely. “Awesome. Also, I might need your help with something.”

Zayn lifted his shoulders again. “Whatever.”

Louis clapped his hands together. “Great, because I’ve got to start doing tryouts on Monday, but I need someone who actually understands me to help with the set design, you know? The guy they’ve got in charge of it, his name’s Ben, right, and the guy is brilliantly attractive, but he’s also brilliantly stupid, and I figured that I could explain to you what I want, and you could translate it to him? One artist to another?”

Louis went to bring the joint back to his lips when Zayn stole it from him. “I’m not an artist,” he pointed out, voice high and tight from the smoke he’d just inhaled.

Louis snorted. “Only because you don’t want to be.”

Zayn opened his mouth to protest that but someone knocked on the door and Louis jumped up. “Our first guest! Who could it be? I’m putting my money on Liam. He would be early. And he’s probably got, like, some fantastic, heart stopping present for you, because that boy is without flaw, and--,”

“Shut up,” Zayn said, ignoring him to head to the door. When he pulled it open he really was surprised that it wasn’t Liam. “Harry.”

“I know I’m early, right,” Harry said, just walking into Zayn’s apartment like he’d been there a million times, when in reality this was his first visit, “but I brought donuts from the bakery that I used to work at, so I hope that makes up for it.”

“You used to work at a bakery?” Louis asked, frowning at him.

“Yeah?”

Louis’ frown deepened, and he looked like he took personal offence to that as Harry thrust the bag at Zayn.

“They’re part of your gift,” Harry told him. “And if I didn’t get them here now, I’d of ended up eating them all on my own, so…”

Zayn shrugged and pulled open the bag. He wasn’t about to tell Harry to leave, not when things between the two of them were tense already.

“Thanks,” Zayn said honestly. The pastries smelled great.

Harry smiled brightly and then pushed another bag at Zayn. Louis watched them curiously as Zayn pulled out the shirt inside. It was a blue jersey with a random number and no name on it. Zayn frowned at it.

“I figured that, this way, you could give Liam’s back,” Harry explained. There was something searching and challenging in his eyes.

“No way,” Zayn said softly without even meaning to. “I mean-- does he want it back? He could have just told me.”

Harry laughed and clapped Zayn on the back before toeing off his shoes and flopping onto the couch next to Louis. “That was a test,” Harry told him, “and you passed. Just wanted to make sure that there was _something_ there. And apparently there is.”

Zayn narrowed his eyes, stuffing the shirt back in the bag. He stomped over to his room to throw it on the bed, but he didn’t miss Louis’, “That was smart. Good one.”

He got it, then, what Harry had done. He’d offered Zayn a new shirt and told him that he could give Liam’s back, just to see if Zayn would protest, because apparently if he did it _meant_ something. Which, really, it didn’t. Louis and Harry were just idiotic, in Zayn’s opinion. Why everything had to have some kind of hidden romantic meaning to people, he had no idea. He just liked the freaking shirt, for fuck sake.

When Zayn returned to the living area, Louis and Harry were seated at opposite ends of the couch, both of them playing awkwardly on their phones. Just as Zayn walked by, his own phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to find a text from Louis.

_Kill me? Please?_

Zayn sunk down onto the couch between Harry and Louis. “When is Niall getting here?” Zayn asked.

“Hm?” Harry looked up from his phone. “Oh, he and Liam should be here soon.”

Zayn nodded and absently tapped out a beat on his knee. At some point Harry started watching him, and then the other boy slapped a hand to his forehead. “I forgot,” he said, sitting up to reach into his coat pocket. “I made it for tonight. I didn’t know what you liked, but you mentioned Paper Route, and I just kind of guessed the rest, so…,” Harry shrugged and handed Zayn a blank CD case, filled with a burnt CD.

Zayn got up and put it on, just for something to do.

If he thought it was awkward before, it was nothing compared to the uncomfortable silence that followed Eleanor’s entrance. She flounced into the room, surrounded by an air of too strong perfume. Zayn wrinkled his nose when El bent down to kiss his cheek.

“Happy birthday, Zayn,” she said without much warmth. “Here.” She tossed a wrapped package to him, and Zayn pulled out the cheap pack of lighters and the birthday card that was simple and generic.

“Thanks,” he said, because Louis was his best mate and therefore it was, like, his job to at least _pretend_ to like his girlfriend. “Good to be prepared for the next time I plan on burning down a building.”

Harry snorted loudly at that and then covered it up with a cough when Louis glared at him.

“Who’s that?” Eleanor asked, eyes narrowing on Harry.

Louis didn’t go red. He went _white_ , colour draining from his cheeks. Harry, on the other hand, extended his hand to Eleanor. “I’m Harry,” he said, and Zayn felt Louis relax beside him, danger averted. “And you’re the one who left him passed out in the bathroom, right?”

Or not.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Zayn,” Louis broke out loudly. “Happy birthday to you!”

When someone else knocked at the door, Zayn jumped up, happy to be out of _that_ situation. That right there was a perfect example of why he didn’t date. Dating was too complicated. People expected things of you, like commitment. He didn’t do commitment, and apparently Louis didn’t, either.

“Happy birthday!” Liam exclaimed when he pulled open the door.

He figured it’d be a lot easier to distance himself from Liam if the other boy didn’t always look so genuinely happy to see him. It wasn’t fair.

“Thanks,” Zayn told him, and he was starting to remember that it wasn’t he lack of friends that kept him from having birthday parties; it was the constant thanking and the never wavering attention. Plus, he didn’t get why people made a big deal out of the day you were born. It was ridiculous. He didn’t do anything.

“Same from me, mate,” Niall said, coming in behind Liam. He passed Zayn a present and Zayn decided he’d open it later, when Liam passed him one, too.

“Open that alone, yeah?” Liam told him, still smiling.

Zayn nodded and brought the other presents into his room to join the one from Harry, which he pointedly did not mention once Liam was there and, thankfully, neither did Harry.

Louis was quick to break out the movies. “Lord of the Rings?” Liam asked, sounding pleased.

Harry and Niall groaned. “They’re so _long_ ,” Harry added.

Eleanor nodded her agreement, and Louis narrowed his eyes at them both, but before he could open his mouth Liam was saying, “You want to watch them, Zayn?”

Zayn shrugged. “Don’t really care, to be honest.” It was a lie and Louis would know it, because Louis knew him, and knew that he had a soft spot for the Lord of the Rings after he’d read all the books when he was thirteen.

“Then we watch it, right? It’s his birthday,” Liam said, sitting down on the ground. Zayn couldn’t look at him, but he didn’t have to, because Louis put the movie on and then everyone settled in. Eleanor draped herself in Louis’ lap, and Zayn sat between them and Harry again, not missing the annoyed set to Harry’s mouth. Niall and Liam were happily sitting on the floor.

Liam was almost sitting with his back against Zayn’s legs, and it was like Zayn couldn’t focus on anything but that. He tried to watch the movie, tried to get interested in Orlando Bloom because, fuck, elf or not he was hot -- maybe even _especially_ as an elf--, but he just didn’t do anything for Zayn, not with Liam sitting right there to compare him to.

“This is fucking lame,” Zayn announced, jumping off the couch. “Let’s do something fun.”

“What exactly do you suggest?” Louis asked, and Zayn noted the slightly hurt expression on his face before it was carefully hidden again. Louis had pretty much done everything for the ‘party’ which was really more of a get together for friends. If they would all be considered that. And he took the comment personally.

“Alcohol,” Zayn said, raising his eyebrows. “Never Have I Ever?”

“Yes!” Louis agreed instantly. “Get the drinks, Zayn, I’ll pause the movie.”

Zayn frowned at him. “It’s my birthday.”

“Oh, right,” Louis said, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Liam, help him.”

Zayn found himself wanting to throw something at Louis for the millionth time in his life as Liam stood up, ever eager to help. Zayn bit back any biting comment on that, because he could be cruel, but Liam didn’t deserve it.

“Right, let’s just give everyone rum and coke, yeah?” Zayn suggested once they were alone in the kitchen.

Liam bit his lip. “Okay.”

He pulled out literally all of his glasses. He didn’t have many, and they were all chipped and mismatched. Liam grabbed the bottle of Coke from the counter, where Louis had left it, and then Zayn grabbed the rum. He opened it and took a sip straight from the bottle while Liam watched. That was part of the reason he did it. Liam’s eyes on him made him feel too warm.

After he took the shot he added a bit to each cup, and Liam filled them the rest of the way with coke. Zayn grabbed half the cups and Liam grabbed the others, and then they headed back out to the living room.

Someone -- Louis -- had pushed the coffee table against the wall and everyone was sitting in a circle with two spots (one between Louis and Harry and another between Niall and Harry) left for Liam and Zayn. Zayn obviously sat beside Louis, while Liam took the one between his friends.

They handed out the drinks and then Louis clapped his hands together. “Everyone set on the rules? Someone says something they’ve never done, and then if you _have_ done it, you have to drink. And if no one drinks, then the person who said it has to drink. The game goes on until someone passes out.”

“Is that safe?” Liam asked. “I don’t think--,”

“Fine, fine,” Louis waved a hand. “We’ll stop when the CD Harry made has run out of songs. Good enough for you, _dad_?”

Liam’s cheeks turned red and Zayn felt annoyed with Louis for embarrassing him.

“Right, Zayn first because he’s the birthday boy.”

Zayn thought long and hard for a moment. He had no idea why he suggested this game, because he was kind of shit at it. He’d done a lot of things. And then he met Liam’s eyes, and he remembered how he’d met Liam in the first place, and said, “Never have I ever gotten arrested.”

Louis groaned. “Low blow,” he said, but he and Harry dutifully drank.

Harry winced. “Fuck that’s strong.”

Louis grinned at him and then, since he was beside Zayn, he considered his own Never Have I Ever. Louis’ grin turned into a smirk as he looked between Zayn and Eleanor and said, “Never have I ever given a blowjob.”

Zayn shrugged and drank, while Eleanor did the same, but she glared at Louis. It was like watching a train wreck, what happened next. A mini, private train wreck that only Zayn was privy too. He could see the exact moment Louis regretted his words, watched the different emotions play out on his face, as Harry lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip.

Louis’ drink, still in his hand, tipped forward a bit and he spilled some of it on his pants. “Fuck,” Louis hissed, looking down at his pants before looking up to see everyone watching him. Zayn didn’t miss the accomplished look on Harry’s face.

“My turn?” Harry asked, and Louis nodded quickly, probably so everyone would stop staring at him. “Okay, never have I ever… had sexual relations in a public setting.”

Liam’s eyes were on Zayn as he and Louis and Eleanor drank. He winked, he couldn’t help it.

When it was Liam’s turn, he debated for a minute before saying, “Never have I ever… been in love.”

Liam held Zayn’s eyes as they were the only two not lifting their cups. Zayn didn’t look away, either, because he felt trapped in those stupid eyes, and then Niall said, “Never have I ever received a blowjob,” and it broke the trance.

“Never?” Louis asked, eyes wide. “Harry’s sister doesn’t--,”

“Don’t,” Harry said angrily.

Zayn and Liam just sipped their drinks, and this time Liam wouldn’t meet his eyes at all. Harry and Louis drank, too.

“Never have I ever,” Eleanor started, “kissed someone of the same gender.”

Liam and Zayn drank again, as did Harry. When Louis took a sip of his own drink, Eleanor turned an alarming shade of red but didn’t say anything. It was like the whole group had suddenly held their breath, and Zayn just burst out with, “Never have I ever thrown up on myself after drinking too much.”

Harry snorted and took a big sip, while Louis and Niall followed.

The tension didn’t leave the room, exactly, but it let up a bit. “Never have I ever wanted to snog Zayn.”

Zayn punched Louis on the shoulder and then, just for laughs, he sipped his own drink. Liam drank, too, and he raised his eyebrows when Harry followed with a, “What? It was one time. It’s the hair.” And then Eleanor sipped, eyes on Louis, paying him back for earlier.

“Foursome, then?” Zayn suggested, just to keep things light.

“Never have I ever danced around my bedroom in nothing but my boxers,” Harry said after a bit of thought.

Zayn let out a barking laugh when Liam sipped his drink, cheeks pink.

“It’s my goal to get Liam drunk tonight,” Harry admitted. “And I’ve got a lot of dirt on you, Payne.”

Zayn was pretty sure Harry succeeded, but he was too drunk by the time they stopped playing to know for sure. The last song on Harry’s CD has stopped a while before the game ended, despite what Louis had said, and Louis was just suggesting a game of Truth or Dare when Zayn’s phone rang.

Zayn pulled it out of his pocket, wondering who could be calling him. It must have been Steve, he realized, but when he looked down at the phone, it wasn’t Steve’s number on the screen. It was someone else’s. Someone who had Zayn’s heart plummeting into his stomach.

Zayn stood up quickly and stumbled towards his bedroom. He just pushed the door halfway shut and put his back against the wall when he pressed ‘talk‘. His head was spinning and his stomach was churning and he let his eyes fall closed.

“Mum,” he said quietly.

“I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” she told him, and her voice had that same, cool quality that it always did. The one that had his heart feeling as if it was stabbed by shards of ice.

He wasn’t sure if it was the drinks he’d had, or the shock of her calling him, but Zayn slipped down the wall, phone falling from his finger tips. His vision went black, and he couldn’t breathe. He was vaguely aware of someone else in the room with him, someone calling his name.

He didn’t realize who it was until Liam bent down and put a hand on Zayn’s shoulder as he picked up the phone. “Who is this?” Liam demanded, a protective note in his voice.

Zayn blinked at him, trying to figure out who the hell Liam Payne was, with his soft eyes and calloused fingers and wide shoulders and soothing voice. With his warm smile and need to help and desire to help _Zayn_. No one had wanted to help Zayn before. Everyone else just left him. Liam wasn’t leaving him, though. Liam was always there.

“Liam,” Zayn said quietly, because he liked saying Liam’s name.

He was vaguely aware of the fact that Liam was still on the phone. With Zayn’s mum. He wanted to take the phone from him, but he found that his arms weighed too much to move.

“This is Liam,” Liam said back to whatever his mother had asked. “Yes, I’m a friend. And you are?” and then he saw the realization flash across Liam’s face. His mum must have asked something else, because Liam finally said, “No, he’s not okay,” before hanging up the phone.

“Come on,” Liam told him, putting a hand under Zayn’s arms. “Party’s over, yeah?”

Zayn shook his head when Liam put him on the bed. “Not yet,” Zayn protested. “I didn’t open your present.

Suddenly that seemed so important to Zayn. If he could just open Liam’s present, he’d forget all about his mum calling, and the fact that he wanted to throw up and scream and kiss Liam until Liam knew nothing but Zayn’s lips.

“Okay,” Liam agreed, handing the package, which had been on Zayn’s bed, to him.

Zayn ripped off the paper, revealing something in a deep burgundy. A burgundy that seemed to be trying to fight its way into Liam’s cheeks, with the way he was blushing. “I figured it’d look better on you, and I didn’t really have money to get you anything, so I thought--,”

Zayn shook his head and pulled on the burgundy sweater, the one he’d taken from Liam’s room so many days ago. “No, I love it,” Zayn assured him, zipping it up. “Smells like you,” he admitted, inhaling deeply before his eyes widened. “That’s creepy, right? Shit.”

Liam’s hand came up to brush against Zayn’s cheek, thumb tracing the shape of Zayn’s jaw. “I kind of liked seeing you in my shirt,” Liam admitted. “And I don’t really know what that means.”

Zayn nodded, understanding that. He really understood that. He had to let Liam know that, which is why it made no sense when the words that came out of his mouth were, “You’re suffocating me.”

Liam blinked at him, and then he scrambled off the bed. “I’m sorry,” Liam said sincerely. “I -- I thought you’d want it. I didn’t-- it wasn’t-- it didn’t have to mean anything, I--,”

“Not like that,” Zayn told him, frustrated. “Not-- not what you do. It’s just-- you’re everywhere, Liam, and I don’t want you to be.”

“Right,” Liam nodded. “I should go. I knew Louis had forced you into inviting me. I’m-- fuck,” Liam swore, running a hand through his hair. “I’m pathetic, right? I mean, thinking that-- that maybe there was-- but there’s not. I’m sorry, Zayn.”

Zayn tugged at the collar of his shirt, needing to breathe. Liam didn’t get it. He didn’t get that he made Zayn lose his breath and want to tear off his own skin. Didn’t get that every time Liam touched him he just wanted more, like Liam was a drug and all it took was one hit to have Zayn jonesing for more. That he wanted to make places inside himself for Liam to fill. Or that he already had holes in himself that he _needed_ Liam to fill. And that it scared the living hell out of Zayn, because he didn’t want any of that. He didn’t want someone else to have such a hold on him because it wouldn’t last, it never lasted.

He couldn’t voice any of that, though, not without making it sound wrong. Not without making things worse. So Zayn did the only thing he could think of; he stood up and grabbed Liam’s face in his hands and kissed him with everything he had. Words screw things up, but kissing him couldn’t make things worse. Not when Liam’s lips felt so perfect again his, not when Liam was kissing him back.

Liam pushed him away, breathing as heavily as Zayn was. “You can’t just do that,” Liam told him, and Zayn realized that Liam was on the verge of crying. “Okay? You can’t just-- you can’t just push me away one minute and then pull me back like that. It’ not fair.”

“Are you two having sex?” Louis demanded, coming into the room with his eyes covered.

Zayn looked at him. “Yes.”

“Oh, good,” Louis uncovered his eyes and blinked at them. “We’re cutting the cake. Come on.”

Zayn let himself be tugged away, while Liam followed behind them. When Louis relit the candles on the cake -- this time there were ten of them--, Louis turned to Zayn and said, “Make a wish!“

Zayn looked at Liam and made a hundred, all of which would never come true.

 

* * *

 

**Louis**

Louis was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that his play was chosen. That people were going to _perform_ it. That -- that something _he’d_ written was going to be made real. And he was also struggling to handle the fact that he’d gotten more of a backseat role of making that actually happen.

He’d thought that they’d make him director, head of choosing the cast and helping everyone learn their lines and cues. Instead, he was only on the board of casting, having to share the role with three other people. He was only instructing Ben on how to make the set. And he wasn’t directing.

“This way everyone gets a job,” his theatre teacher, Mr. Evans, told him. “You’re still the one who made this all possible, but now you’ve got to let everyone else help.”

Louis did not pout. He didn’t. He just went home and screamed into his pillow before calling Zayn. Not that calling Zayn helped anything, because if Zayn wasn’t snapping at him, he was teenage-girl-depressed, a phrase that Louis used very seldom that perfectly fit the situation. It had been two days -- two day!-- since the party, and Zayn’s mood had just fluctuated constantly during both of them. Louis was about ready to kill Liam Payne for turning his best mate into a mess of anger and denial induced sobs.

Because that’s what it was. Denial. Zayn was falling in love with Liam and Louis had to watch him fall with no way to catch him, and it hurt. It hurt, because Zayn was hurt, and he _knew_ that if Zayn wasn’t such a fucking emotionally constipated shit, Liam _would_ catch him. And he couldn’t even say any of that to Zayn, because Zayn would just retreat to his cocoon and this time, Louis wouldn’t be allowed in it.

That’s what Zayn did, after everything with his parents. He wasn’t like Louis, he didn’t build up impossibly high walls. He shrunk in on himself, deteriorated. Kept everything curled up inside, but Louis was welcome there, on Zayn’s inside. Sometimes, Zayn would keep him out, but more often than not Zayn would open his arms and let Louis crawl into them. Sometimes he figured he was the only thing tethering Zayn to anything at all.

So he had to sit there and watch everything pan out, because if he interfered, it would only make things worse.

And, on top of The Zayn Problem, there was The Eleanor Problem that had developed after Zayn’s birthday party, when Louis had admitted to kissing someone of the same gender. And then on top of _that_ was The Harry Problem which included but was not limited to Louis wanting to snog him senseless, and Louis telling himself he didn’t want Harry, and Louis hating Harry.

Actually, Louis hated everyone in that moment, he realized. Everyone.

He passed out at some point without dinner. He hadn’t been hungry anyways. When he woke up in the morning, Louis took a long shower, longer than he usually would. He considered taking a bath, even, but he had a thing against baths. Something about sitting in your own dirt made him uncomfortable, because he was normal.

After the shower, he wiped at the foggy glass and stared at his reflection.

He was Louis fucking Tomlinson. He had no business feeling sorry for himself, or worrying over his relationship with his girlfriend, or about the developing relationship with a boy with green eyes and curly hair and a smile that was going to ruin him. He had no business moaning about not having a big enough part of bringing his play to life. He needed to pull it all together, because that’s what he did. He pulled it together when everyone else fell apart, because he had to, and because he could.

Louis dried his hair and dressed in a pair of jeans that hugged his thighs and showed off his bum. He grabbed his favourite striped shirt and pulled it on. After that, he headed back to the bathroom and brushed his teeth thoroughly before fixing his hair. When he was done, he took a long look in the full length mirror in his room. He looked good. He looked _together_.

Now he just had to tell himself that he felt it.

He walked into school that morning with his head held high. He’d skipped breakfast, feeling a bit too nauseas to eat. He had important things to do, and he couldn’t do them if he was throwing up an egg sandwich.

He found Eleanor at her locker. She was standing with a few of her friends, and when she saw him her eyes narrowed a bit, the way they’d taken to since the party, but then she put on a tight smile. “Louis!” she called, like she was genuinely happy to see him, because there were people around and they were _that_ couple, and they really couldn’t pretend to be any different.

Except they could, actually.

Louis smiled at her and then leant down to whisper, “Can I talk to you? Alone?” in her ear.

Eleanor pulled back and shrugged. “Just say what you need to say, love, we’ve got class in a bit and I need to fix my lipstick.”

Louis raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Okay, but I’d suggest a lighter pink. That red’s not flattering for your skin tone. Also I’m breaking up with you.”

El frowned at him. “The red matches my skin tone, what do you--,” and then her eyes widened. She shook her head, brown hair swinging around her shoulders. “Louis--,”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, eyebrows drawing together. “I really am. I tried to make it work, and I tried to be happy with us, but I wasn’t. I’m not. And staying together is just pointless, because we have an expiration date, no matter what. And we both know it.”

Eleanor gave him a long, hard look, and then she hugged him tightly. “Just be careful with him, okay? I want you to be happy, too.”

Louis pulled back and gaped at her. “I don’t--,”

“Yeah, you do,” she told him. “And it’s okay. Just-- don’t deny it for too long, okay? Because sometimes people aren’t always waiting around for you to catch the fuck up, Tomlinson.” She smiled at him. “Call me later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis said, a bit dazed.

The thing was, as much as he felt like dry heaving, he felt better, too. Like he’d cut a string and set himself free. He loved El, he really did, and he wouldn’t ever stop, probably, as long as she let him. But he didn’t love her properly, and he realized that they both knew it. Maybe she’d known it for longer than he did, even, but still. There it was.

The next thing Louis did was head towards his theatre class. He didn’t have it until later in the day, but Mr. Evans would be inside, getting ready to start class. Louis knocked on the door to the room and pushed it open when Evans called for him to come in.

He really liked Evans. He was a great teacher, had been one of the more contributing factors to Louis’ developed love of theatre.

“Louis,” he said, smiling. “Come to discuss a few last minute things before the auditions today?”

Louis nodded and bit his lip. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Ask away,” Evans told him.

“Right,” Louis nodded. “I don’t care about the rest of the casting-- well, no, I really do, but it’s not as important-- but I _need_ to have the final say on James.”

Evans blinked at him. “I thought we talked about this? Casting is up to--,”

“Yes, I know,” Louis said quickly. “And it can be, for everyone else. But this is-- this means so much to me, you don’t understand. And I can’t sit by and watch Anthony cast Roger like he does for every other show we’ve put on because, to put it quite bluntly, Roger is a shit actor, and he only gets the lead role because we all know that he’s attractive and he sells tickets. And I don’t really give a shit. I’ll buy all the tickets out if I have to, but I can’t stand by and watch him ruin this.”

Evans blinked at him. Louis was a bold student, yes, but he never pushed his limits with his teachers. “Language, Mr. Tomlinson,” Evans warned. He pulled off his glasses and looked closely at Louis. “Just for James?”

Louis nodded so fast he felt his neck crack. “Just James.”

Evans nodded. “Fine. I can see that-- clearly this is important to you. And, I’m not going to lie, Louis, Roger is a shit actor.”

Louis smirked. “He is.”

“If anyone asks, I only agreed because you’re a bloody good writer, yeah? Not ‘cause you’re my favourite.”

“But I am,” Louis said, grinning.

“Goodbye, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Louis left the room just as the bell rang. He didn’t head to his class straight away, though. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and ducked into the boys bathroom, shooing out a group of younger students who glared at him but did as they were told.

When Zayn answered, he sounded about ready to strangle Louis. “It’s eight thirty in the morning,” Zayn informed him. “And I swear to god, Lou, if you don’t have a good excuse for this, I’m going to buy a lawnmower and--,”

“Calm down,” Louis told him. “You can go back to sleep in a moment. Just let me talk first.”

Zayn made a grunting sound.

“I just wanted to call and tell you that I love you, you sack of shit, okay? And that whatever it is you’re going through --,” Louis ignored Zayn’s denials, “I’m here for you. But I can’t handle you disappearing from the world, alright? I don’t care if you’re heartbroken or going through something that you don’t want to talk about. Whatever the fuck it is, Zayn, you need to realize that I’m _here_ , okay? And I’ve always been here, and I’m always going to be here, no matter what shit you pull. So suck it the fuck up and lean on me sometimes, yeah? That’s what I’m here for.”

Zayn was quiet for a moment, and all Louis could hear from the other end was heavy breathing. “Okay,” Zayn agreed finally. “Okay.”

“Good,” Louis said. “See you after school for pizza?”

Zayn made a sound of agreement, and then said, “I’m sorry, you know. For being shit at everything.”

Louis softened. “You’re not. You just convince yourself that you are, so then you don’t try at anything. And it sucks to watch, Zayn, because you’re kind of spectacular, when you want to be.”

Zayn snorted. “Did you have a good fuck or something last night? You’re in a weird mood and it’s freaking me out.”

“No,” Louis said only slightly waspishly. “I broke up with El, actually.”

“Jesus,” Zayn breathed. “What the hell happened to you?”

Louis shrugged before realizing Zayn couldn’t see it. “I guess I just got sick of watching everyone fuck up, and I realized that I’ve kind of fucked up a lot, too, and the only way to fix things is if I fix them myself.”

“You’ve been listening to that Coldplay song on repeat again, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s really besides the point.”

“I’m going back to bed,” Zayn told him. “But, uh, thanks. You know. For whatever.”

“You’re welcome for, you know, whatever.”

Zayn hung up on him then with a quick, “Later, Lou.”

Louis tucked his phone back into his pocket. Sure, there were a lot of things still left broken, but he’d fixed everything that could be done immediately, and he felt-- accomplished. And good. And proud of himself. And it was nice, for once, to not have a weight in his stomach or on his shoulders.

 

* * *

 

**Liam**

He was failing English. He was failing English, and his whole future was fucked. His scholarship resided on him passing all of his classes with at least a 3.5 GPA. And it was all going to be ruined by one little essay on Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_.

He’d worked on it practically non-stop for the last two weeks of January, and in the first week of February (only taking a break for Harry’s birthday, which was considerably less spectacular than it had been the last couple years, because neither of his parents allowed him to have a party), he handed it in, expecting an okay mark, because he’d put so much effort into it. Without Rugby to focus on, he could put all his extra time and effort that wasn’t spent working out to keep in shape into his work. And he needed to get at a high mark on the paper to bring his grade up to where it needed to be.

And he’d gotten a ‘C’. A ‘C’ could destroy his entire future. One little letter, written on the side of his paper. The paper that Liam had begged his teacher to remark. The paper that now sat on his desk, staring up at him, giant red ‘C’ glaring at him.

He needed to get his parents to sign the paper, and hand it back in with a redone copy by the end of the week. And Liam was panicking. He was absolutely panicking. First of all, there was no way in hell he could get a better mark on that paper in a week. Not when two weeks of work had gotten him a shit mark already. And second, he couldn’t tell his parents.

His dad would go ballistic. Liam could picture it now, the way the conversation would go. He’d bring the paper up, try to make it sound as good as he could, but his dad wouldn’t care.

“You’re throwing away your whole future,” he’d most likely say. “You don’t try hard enough, Liam. You have to want this, you have to put in _effort_. Maybe you shouldn’t be hanging out with that Styles boy anymore. I knew he was a bad influence. And we’re selling your car. You’re going to need the money, now that you have no future. Rugby was all you had, Liam. It’s all you’re good at, don’t you get that? That’s why we push you so hard. It’s all you have.”

Liam stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering why the hell he felt like crying. He needed to call Harry. He needed someone to reassure him that he wasn’t a complete fuck up at everything.

And yet, when he opened the contact page on his phone, he found himself flicking past the ‘H’ and down to the bottom, to his last contact. He pressed talk and waited.

“Liam?” Zayn asked, picking up on the third ring.

It was weird; Zayn used to wait hours before responding to him, but lately that was getting better. He’d text Liam back, and they’d even chatted on the phone once. Liam wasn’t sure what changed things, because he was pretty sure that they way they’d left everything on Zayn’s birthday was unfixable.

He remembered how he’d felt, walking in Zayn’s room to see him slumped against the wall. He’d felt his heart drop and he’d rushed over to him to find Zayn’s phone on the floor. It didn’t take a genius to put together the pieces, to know that whoever had called him was responsible for Zayn’s state. Liam wanted to know who they were, what they’d done. Why anyone would ever want to make Zayn like that.

He hadn’t expected a older woman to answer him. He hadn’t expected that person to reply to his question with, “I’m Zayn’s mother, who are you?” and he hadn’t expected the anger that seeped into him at that. Liam didn’t know Zayn, would probably never know Zayn, but he could make a pretty good guess at the gist of what was going on.

And when the woman had asked, quiet, tentatively, if Zayn was okay, Liam had been completely honest. And then he’d hung up.

“Liam,” Zayn repeated, this time sounding a bit annoyed.

“Sorry,” Liam said automatically. He didn’t realize how close to tears he’d been until he heard the thickness in his own voice.

“Liam,” Zayn said for a third time. Liam was starting to notice that Zayn did that a lot, say his name; he wondered if Zayn liked to say Liam’s name, or if he did that for everyone. “What’s wrong?”

Liam swallowed and closed his eyes. “A lot, actually. Did you know that my entire future depends on me passing English? And that I’m actually really bad at English, it turns out. And I’m failing. I’m failing, and my dad’s going to kill me, and I’m so screwed. It’s all so screwed, I--,”

“Slow down,” Zayn ordered, and Liam froze, holding his breath. “Okay, _breathe_ , Liam, Christ. Right, now, slower this time, yeah? You’re failing English. Okay. How do you know?”

Liam did as Zayn said, wondering why Zayn had such a calming affect on him sometimes, when other times he made Liam feel like he was set on fire. “I had to write a paper on Frankenstein a few weeks ago. I got it back today to find out I’ve barely passed. Definitely not with a high enough mark to get my scholarship.”

“Did you ask your teacher if you could redo it?”

“Yeah,” Liam admitted. “And I can, but -- it’s no use, Zayn. I’m not kidding. I can’t do English. I wouldn’t even be taking a course this hard if I didn’t have to in order to get my scholarship.”

“Frankenstein,” Zayn repeated. “You got the book?”

Liam nodded and said, “Yeah, he gave it back to me so I could use it to redo the paper.”

“Okay, come over here. Bring your book and your notes.”

Liam hesitated. “I really need to work on this--,”

“And we will,” Zayn promised. “I’m actually, like, brilliant at English. But I didn’t say that, because it makes me sound like a douche, okay?”

“Okay,” Liam agreed, sitting up. “Just come over?”

“And bring all your stuff.”

“I’ll be there in a bit,” Liam told him.

“Just walk in, the door’s unlocked.”

Liam got off the bed and gathered all his books and a pen, shoving them into his bag without care of whether or not he bent pages. He passed by his dad on the way out the door, who asked him where he was going so fast, and who reminded him to be home by eight for his nightly run. If he wasn’t doing rugby, he added an extra run at night to his morning routine to make sure he didn’t get too used to having no practise or games.

He considered stopping to pick up takeaway for them on the way to Zayn’s but decided not to. That might make it seem like Liam thought it was a date, and he still hadn’t forgotten Zayn’s claim that Liam was smothering him. He couldn’t, because every time Liam dreamed of Zayn -- which was far too often, to be honest--, Zayn repeated those words. Over and over until Liam was the one who couldn’t breathe, who woke up gasping for air.

He felt a little weird, just walking into Zayn’s apartment, but he sucked it up and did it anyways. He found Zayn in the living room, coffee table pushed against the wall like it had been during his party when they’d played that game. He was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, eyes on the television, legs spread out in front of him. It took Liam a moment to realize it, but he was wearing the sweater, and it made something twist inside Liam as he kicked off his shoes.

“Come here,” Zayn ordered, not looking up. “Just watching the end of this episode and then we’ll get to work.”

Liam nodded and slid onto the floor beside Zayn, his bag to the left of him. He was careful to keep a good distance between the two of them.

When the episode ended moments later, Zayn turned off the television and then turned to Liam and crossed his legs. “Okay, give me the book.”

Liam complied, pulling the novel from his bag and handing it over to Zayn.

“Your original paper, too,” Zayn added.

Liam handed that one over with a bit more hesitation. It was embarrassing enough to get a bad mark on it; he didn’t want Zayn to think he was stupid.

The only good part about Zayn reading his paper was that it gave Liam time to watch Zayn. His eyes scanned the words quickly, his face blank. His head was tilted forward, and his eyelashes cast shadows on the planes of his face. His skin looked so smooth, and Liam knew that it was, too, and he wanted to touch it. He wanted to touch Zayn’s hair, too. He had it styled differently today, more fluffy than it was in the sharp quiff. He wouldn’t admit it, but Zayn’s hair kind of reminded him of a baby chicken, all down feathers and softness.

Zayn chewed the inside of his cheek as he read, and sometimes he would make a sound, some kind of grunt that Liam couldn’t interpret as either good or bad.

Finally, after what felt like such a long time but had to of been about five minute, Zayn folded the last piece of paper over and handed the paper back to Liam.

“Okay, we’re going to read the book again,” Zayn told him. “Because you missed, like, a lot of the subplot. You got all the obvious things, but there were more subtle details that you didn’t pick up on, and I think that’s the problem.”

“It was boring,” Liam admitted.

Zayn made a face at him. “Reading’s not boring if you convince yourself that you want to do it. If you look at it as work, it’s going to suck no matter how good it is. But if you tell yourself that you _want_ to read it, then it’s fun, it’ll be easier to follow.”

Liam raised his eyebrows in surprise and Zayn shrugged. “Okay,” Liam said slowly. “But how do I do that?”

Zayn picked up the book. “I’m going to read it to you. And every time it looks like you’re zoning out, I’m hitting you over the head with it.”

“So you just want me to listen,” Liam gathered. That sounded like a really, really bad idea. Had he not explained to Zayn that he distracted him too much? How was he supposed to pay attention to the words Zayn was reading if he was too caught up in listening to the sound of Zayn’s smooth voice and his interesting accent, or when he was too busy watching Zayn’s lips form the words?

“And write down everything you think is important, even if it’s, like, really insignificant.”

Liam found himself saying, “Okay,” before he could stop himself.

“Right, okay,” Zayn said again, and then he opened the book and started reading, while Liam pulled out his notebook and a pen.

It wasn’t as hard to pay attention as Liam had feared. When Zayn read, he spoke in a voice that didn’t just demand to be listened to, but that demanded to be understood. He read at a good pace, slow enough for Liam to jot down something when he thought it was important, and sometimes he’d pause between paragraphs while Liam furiously wrote, as if he could tell when Liam would find something worthy of being written down.

The room was a near cloud of smoke, Zayn lighting one cigarette within minutes of putting one out. Liam bit his tongue to keep from making a comment on it, and Zayn got up at one point to open the window.  
  
He wasn’t sure how long they’d been at it, but he’d asked Zayn to repeat a line a few times, or to stop for a moment. And then, out of the blue, Liam asked, “What’s your favourite colour?”

So maybe Zayn did still distract him a bit, because he _was_ paying attention to what Zayn was saying. He honestly was. But it was impossible not to pay attention to Zayn, too, and Liam had started to realize that he really didn’t know any important details of Zayn’s life, and the question had just… slipped out.

“Red,” Zayn said automatically, and then he paused and Liam felt Zayn’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look up from his paper. He just scribbled the word ‘red’ down on the margin and acted like nothing had happened, and a moment later Zayn blew out another cloud of smoke and continued reading.

About half an hour later, after Zayn paused to explain a paragraph to Liam, Liam asked another question. “Do you read often?”

“Sometimes,” Zayn admitted. “Not this, but--,” and then he cut himself off and started reading again, while Liam jotted down, on the margin, underneath Zayn’s favourite colour, ‘likes to read’.

And it continued like that, Liam butting in to ask Zayn questions about the literature while sneaking in questions about Zayn, which Zayn would answer without thinking and then stop himself before continuing reading like nothing had happened.

He got Zayn’s favourite food (“Any kind of chicken, really.”) and Zayn’s favourite movie (Scarface), whether he’d finished school (dropped out last year), and what he would have done after Uni (“I wanted to teach English or be an artist.”).

That last one was the longest answer Zayn had given, and after that he’d shut the book, stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. “We should stop for the day,” he said. “I’ve got some things I have to do.”

Liam closed his notebook. “Oh, right. Yeah.”

He could see Zayn chewing the inside of his lip again, but Zayn was staring at the wall above Liam’s head. “Tomorrow, then? We’ll finish up the book?”

Liam grinned. “Sure.”

“And-- and I can get the movie, too, and then we’ll write the actual paper--,” Zayn frowned and stopped talking.

“Sounds good,” Liam agreed, putting his stuff in his bags. “Thanks, a lot. You have no idea how much you’ve saved me today.”

Zayn put his hands into the pockets of Liam’s old sweater. “Not a big deal.”

“No, it really is,” Liam told him, pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Liam,” Zayn said quietly.

Liam left, feeling a hell of a lot better than he had when he’d first called Zayn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you guys all for the lovely reviews. Seriously. I want to hug you all. Like, nice, long, just slightly uncomfortable hugging for everyone okay. -- C


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, before we get into this, I would just like to say, because a few people were like, "WHAT? DANIELLE? GIRL YOU BETTER NOT EVEN DO THAT." that there is a slight Danielle/Liam storyline, but it is literally brought in and ended within the chapter, I promise. (also this is a day late but I got really caught up after watching TWD and Shameless and then writing for another fic that I put off updating last night because I suck D: )

**Zayn**

It was just work. He was just helping out a friend. Liam could be considered his friend at this point, he told himself. And Louis, every time Louis brought it up. It didn’t have to be a big deal, as long as neither of them made a big deal out of it. And neither of them did.

It was _just_ work. Liam would come over, bringing his bag filled with his books and pens and, once, he brought a bag of takeaway and two cans of coke. Zayn would grab the book and start reading, and Liam would write down what he found important.

And he’d ask questions.

After the second question, Zayn knew that they weren’t just randomly blurted out. They were deliberate questions, ones that Liam thought before asking, and ones whose answers apparently meant something to Liam, like he wanted to get to know Zayn, no matter how trivial it all was.

Within three days Liam knew his favourite artists (Usher, Chris Brown, Paper Route, Nirvana, Pink Floyd), what season was his favourite (Autumn), whether he liked Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings more (Lord of the Rings, because he hadn’t actually read Harry Potter), and more unimportant things that felt weirdly important, when Liam asked about them.

It was just friendly. Friends knew those things about each other. It wasn’t, like, weird that Liam would ask, or that Zayn would answer. They were just questions asked between paragraphs and chapters, between important notes being jotted down.

And when they finished reading the book and Zayn put on the movie, which he’d had to get Louis to borrow from his English teacher, that was all they did. Zayn couldn’t remember the last time he’d just ‘watched a movie’ with someone who wasn’t Louis, alone. He’d had girls and guys over to watch movies before, but that wasn’t really what they’d do. And yet, that’s what he and Liam did. They sat on opposite ends of the couch, a bowl of popcorn between them, and just _watched_.

When Liam finished his paper -- with Zayn hovering over him the whole time to correct grammatical errors or to point out when a paragraph sounded too blocky, or how he could stretch out the word count by making a certain piece of information a different point-- that was it. And when Zayn watched him leave that night with a gleeful smile on his face, it definitely didn’t make Zayn feel sick to his stomach. And he didn’t wish that Liam had more time to work on it just so he’d have an excuse to spend all his time with Zayn.

Louis called him early on Saturday, sounding just as weirdly carefree as he always did lately. He had no idea what the hell had happened to his best friend, but it was weirdly intoxicating, Louis’ wonderful mood. And it made Zayn a bit sick, too.

“Get up,” Louis ordered immediately. “I’m coming over, and I’m bringing paint. Meet me downstairs.”

Zayn frowned at the phone and rolled over in his bed. He was sleeping in that stupid hoodie again, because his room was cold, and the hoodie was warm.

“I told you,” Zayn groaned. “My landlord said I can’t paint.”

“I know that,” Louis snapped. “Be downstairs in fifteen.”

“Why does the new you have to be so motivated?” Zayn asked, sitting up. “I don’t like it. I don’t want to be motivated. I want to sleep.”

“And I don’t care. See you in fifteen. _Be downstairs_.”

Zayn sighed and put his phone on the side table before he got out of bed. He pulled on a pair of pants, ran the comb through his hair, and then headed downstairs, cigarette already lit and in his mouth. He found himself smoking a lot less when Liam wasn’t around. When Liam was there, Zayn had a cigarette in his mouth constantly. He could blow through half a pack in the three hours Liam was over at his place, no problem, and it was a bit sick, even he could admit it. But the cigarettes distracted him from the way Liam distracted him, so he’d keep smoking them, if they kept him just on the right side of sanity.

When Louis pulled up, Zayn tossed the burning stick to the ground and stepped on it. He wasn’t driving his car, for once, but was instead driving his parent’s SUV, the one that sat in the garage eight months out of the year when Louis’ sisters were away at school.

“Help me in the back,” Louis ordered, jumping out of the vehicle. “We’re going to have to make two trips.”

Zayn raised his eyebrows but didn’t question Louis. He’d find out soon enough what his friend was up to.

“Okay, so you carry the big one, and I’ll get the bags,” Louis said while unlocking the trunk. “And then we’ll come back down and I’ll get the other big one and you can get the small one.”

“Big what--?” Zayn froze, eyes wide. “Where the hell did you get those?”

He stared into the back of the SUV at the enormous canvases. Two of them were huge-- as tall as Zayn was, probably, and the other one was only slightly smaller.

“School,” Louis said, smirking. “I stole them from the theatre room, but if anyone asks, you don’t know anything. It’s not like they’ll be missed. They’re too small for Ben to use for the play, anyways, and it’s not like the school can’t afford to replace them.”

Zayn raised his eyebrows. “And we’re going to do what with them, exactly?”

Louis gave him an ‘are you daft?’ look. “We’re going to paint them, obviously,” Louis said slowly, reaching into the back of the vehicle to grab a couple of bags. “You can’t paint your walls, but these are big enough to cover the wall above your bed, and then the other one can go in the living room, and the smaller one can go in the kitchen. Your place needs some colour, Zayn, it’s depressing.”

Zayn snorted. His apartment was fine, thanks. But he grabbed one of the large canvases out of the back and tried to figure out the best way to carry the damn thing. Louis was exceptionally unhelpful, carrying his bags. It was a miracle, really, that they not only made them up to his apartment, but that they actually fit in his apartment, too.

Louis placed the bags on the floor and Zayn leaned the canvas against one wall before they headed back down to get the rest of the stuff. Once it was all brought in, Louis pushed the coffee table away and spread out a blue tarp.

“This is going to be fun,” Louis promised. “Painting is supposed to be therapeutic.”

“I don’t know why you think I want something that you painted on my wall,” Zayn mumbled, as Louis pulled tube after tube of paint out of the bags. Every colour Zayn could imagine was there, as well as a plethora of different sized paint brushed.

“I’m an excellent artist,” Louis told him.

Zayn arched an eyebrow. “Have you ever actually painted anything?”

“Nope,” he said cheerfully.

And Zayn stopped protesting, because he really didn’t see any reason to continue doing so. Louis wasn’t going to let up, and, to be honest, it was probably a good thing that Louis was there. Liam wouldn’t be, not with his paper done, and this way, Zayn wouldn’t have time to think about whether or not he missed him.

Louis popped in a CD, and the first few bars started up while Zayn groaned. “Seriously?” he asked. “Why don’t you ask him to make you another one? I’m sick of this one.”

Louis went a shade of red that nearly matched the tube of paint in his hands. “Because I’m not talking to him until I work a few things out. Now shut up and paint,” he said, throwing a tube at Zayn.

It was orange. Zayn put it back down and reached for the brown, while Louis pulled the large canvas over and dropped it in front of Zayn, and then sat down in front of the smaller one for himself.

“No Liam today?” Louis asked while uncapping a light blue.

Zayn opened the brown and poured it onto one of the paper plates that Louis had conveniently brought over. “No,” Zayn said, looking down at the paint before swirling his brush in it. “We’re done with the paper.”

“So?” Louis scoffed. “You don’t need an excuse to hang out with a friend.”

“He’s not my friend,” Zayn said slowly. “Not really.”

“But you want him to be.”

“No.

Louis clucked his tongue and painted a huge blue stripe on his canvas and then peered down at it, lips pursed. “This is going to be complete shit, I hope you realize,” he told Zayn. “And you’re going to hang it in your kitchen and look at it every day.”

Zayn didn’t deny that, because he would.

They didn’t talk much after that, as they painted. Every time he looked over at Louis, he was bent over the canvas, lip between his teeth, but his eyes were far away. He didn’t ask, because Louis would have brought it up himself if he wanted to talk about it.

Louis painted in all bright colours. Within an hour his canvas was a smear of blue, streaks of red, dots of orange, stripes of green. It was, in Zayn’s opinion, very Louis. He brought vibrant colours everywhere he went, even in what he wore -- right now a pair of bright red jeans and a white shirt that had already been spotted by every paint colour he used.

Zayn painted in browns and gold and reds. No matter how random he moved his brush, it didn’t look anywhere near as chaotic as Louis’ painting. It was simple and almost calming to look at, really. Even the red should have stood out, where it bled into the other colours, but it didn’t. It melded seamlessly, like flames on a wood that just wouldn’t burn up, no matter how hot the fire was.

When he was done, Zayn leaned back and reached for a cigarette. Louis dotted over his painting for a few more minutes, mixing the colours until they were just right. Finally he, too, finished and leaned back on his hands.

“That went better than expected,” Louis said, grinning. “Let’s see what you did, yeah?”

He stood up and moved around the canvases and the blue tarp to stand above Zayn. Zayn didn’t feel embarrassed with the way Louis was looking critically at his painting. Either it was shit or it wasn’t, but it didn’t really matter, because it had been nice to just lose himself in the brush strokes and the paint and the calmness of it all.

“Is that the way you see him?” Louis asked softly, frowning.

Zayn made a face at him and stood up, wanting to see his painting from the same vantage point as Louis did. It didn’t look all that much different, except, maybe, if you didn’t look too close, there was a sort of sensibility to the chaos of the colours.

“What?” Zayn asked, not understanding the question.

“Liam,” Louis said, like it was obvious. He bent down and reached out a hand, as if to run his fingers through the still wet paint. Zayn grabbed his wrist to stop him, and Louis looked back up at him. “Come on, Zayn, honestly. We’ve both seen him when he’s playing rugby. When he’s running, he kind of looks like your painting. A blur of red and brown, you know?”

“No, I don’t,” Zayn lied, because he hadn’t meant to do that, but now that Louis pointed it out, he could see it. The dark brown of his eyes, the lighter brown of his hair, the tanned cream colour of his skin, and then the blazing red of the jersey that Zayn still had hanging in his room.

Louis snorted and collapsed onto the ground, stealing Zayn’s cigarette from where he was about to lift it to his lips. Louis took a deep inhale and then made a face. “Nope, I still don’t like smoking,” he announced before passing it back to Zayn, who glared at him and took a puff of his own. “Do you want to tell me what it’s like?” Louis asked.

“What what’s like?”

“Falling in love with someone.”

Zayn brought the cigarette to his lips and took his time, letting the smoke bellow out around him slowly. “It’s kind of like drowning,” he decided finally.

It was the only way he could describe the way that he’d been pulled under against his will, and then the way he’d tried to fight it with everything he’d had, and the way he had to struggle to get air into his lungs.

“Like drowning,” Louis repeated, not asking Zayn to elaborate, probably because Louis understood him without needing to ask questions. “Well, that sounds unpleasant, I don’t ever want to do _that_.”

Zayn rolled his eyes and scooped up a bit of the red paint from his plate and then wiped his hand on Louis’ face. Louis gaped at him and Zayn jumped up, already running through the apartment away from Louis, who had picked up a blue tube of paint.

It was a good thing, really, that he’d taken off the sweater before he started painting, because by the time he and Louis collapsed onto his sofa-- leaving prints of paint all over it, not that Zayn really gave a shit-- they were covered in various colours of paint.

“We look like your painting,” Zayn informed him.

“You mean we look beautiful? Of course we do, we always do.”

Zayn snorted.

“I’ve got a date,” Louis said suddenly, and Zayn gaped at him. “With Ben. The guy I told you about? The one who’s painting my set.”

Zayn was genuinely shocked. But then, he probably shouldn’t be. Louis never did anything half-assed. He always just went for it, regardless of the consequences.

“So you’re coming out then?”

Louis shrugged. “I’m not coming out as much as testing the waters. First of all, I don’t even think I’m gay. I think I’m just bisexual leaning towards gay. I mean, I was attracted to El, at the beginning, before I admitted to myself that I might also be into guys. And Ben’s attractive, and he’s funny, occasionally. Plus, he likes to talk about me, and I like to talk about me. It’s like a match made in heaven.”

“How does El feel about that?”

“Oh, she’s the one who told me to go for it. I think she knew a long time before I broke things off that it was going to happen, you know? We didn’t work, but I think we cared about each other too much to admit it,” Louis admitted. “Also, was I the only one not aware of my own attraction to men?”

“Apparently,” Zayn told him.

“So, what about you?” Louis asked, ignoring that. “You finally ready to admit to everyone that you’ve got a big heart boner for Liam?”

“No,” Zayn said quietly. “I don’t really think he’s into me that way anymore. I think he wants to be friends.”

“Friends,” Louis repeated. “He’s already got friends, and I’m pretty sure _those_ ones didn’t give him a blowjob.”

“Harry might have,” Zayn mused. “You never know. We didn’t ask.”

Louis made a face. “I think that’s about as likely as me giving _you_ a blowjob which, by the way, not happening, before you get any ideas.”

Zayn grinned at him. “You sure?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows. “I’d return the favour, and apparently I’m, like, really good at--,”

“Don’t,” Louis warned. “I don’t know why I keep you around.”

“Same reason I keep you around, I reckon,” Zayn told him. “’Cause no one else could handle us.”

“Mm,” Louis nodded his head. “I think you’re right.”

Louis left not long after that, which was probably a good thing, because Zayn needed to clean up and then meet with Steve. He left the paintings on the floor to dry, and found that Louis had left a box on the ground. Zayn opened it to find a hammer and nails inside. He’d hang them up later, and figure out what to do with the last canvas.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision, the next day when he nailed the brown painting to the wall above his bed. He told himself it was because he wanted something a bit more colourful in the living room, and not because the stupid thing meant something to him after Louis pointed out the obvious about it.

He fell asleep that night laying at the opposite end of his bed just so he could look at it.

Louis had royally fucked up his sleep schedule, apparently, because the next day Zayn couldn’t stay in bed past ten. He was going to honestly kill Louis this time. Except, maybe, it was kind of a good thing, because he was out working early, heading to Ronald to pick up another ounce, stopping at Jennifer’s to drop off a few grams, and then Darren’s for two. By the time he made it back to his apartment, it was late in the afternoon. And someone was knocking on his door.

“Liam?” Zayn asked, surprised.

He and Liam hadn’t really talked since he left Thursday. He thought that maybe Liam would text him on Friday to tell him what he got on his paper, but he hadn’t.

“Oh,” Liam turned and let his hand, which had been raised to knock again, fall. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Zayn said, raising his eyebrows. Liam moved out of the way so he could unlock his door. “What’s up?” he asked as he headed inside. Liam hesitated outside the door.

“Um.” He lifted up the book in his hand. Zayn could just make out the title -- Macbeth. “Can you--?”

Liam didn’t finish, but Zayn got what he meant. He rolled his eyes and waved Liam in. “I’m starting to think you really are shit at English,” Zayn couldn’t help but mutter.

Liam grinned, unaffected. “I am,” he agreed. “And I don’t get _any_ of this. Seriously, why couldn’t we read something from this century?”

If Liam had been bad at following Frankenstein, he was a hundred times worse with Macbeth. They didn’t even make it through two whole scenes, with all the questions Liam asked and all the things Zayn had to explain. It was going to take a hell of a long time for them to get through it, he knew, and, though he’d deny it if anyone -- Louis-- asked, he was happy about that.

“Oh, crap,” Liam said at around six. He was looking down at his phone, eyebrows scrunched together in a way that Zayn refused to categorize as adorable, because he didn’t use the word adorable. “I’ve got to go.”

“Dinner with your parents or something?” Zayn guessed.

“Um, not exactly,” Liam admitted while packing up his things. “I’ve kind of got-- I’ve--,” and then that steely look came over his face and he sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve got a date, actually.”

Zayn wondered if it was literally possible for one person to suck all the oxygen out of a room, because it   
sure as fuck felt like it was.

“That’s-- good for you,” Zayn said, shrugging. He felt his face morph into his normal look of indifference and wondered how people managed to look one way when they felt another, and why he was so damn good at it himself.

“I guess,” Liam said, frowning. “I don’t really know her all that well, but--,”

“It’s a girl?” Zayn asked, and again, he sounded like he really didn’t care, when he did. He cared a hell of a lot more than he’d like to.

“Yeah,” Liam ran a hand through his hair. “She works with Niall. We’ve met a few times, at the shop, and I guess-- I guess she likes me? I didn’t notice, to be honest, and I don’t really see why, but--,”

“Because you’re great, Liam,” Zayn said honestly. “And your date’s going to be great too, yeah? And it’ll all just be great,” Zayn made a surprised face. “Shit, I forgot, I have to meet Steve. You should get going too, right? Don’t want to be late.”

“Right,” Liam said slowly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, same time?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Zayn agreed.

Liam smiled weakly at him once more and that did that dorky little half wave thing he does, and left. The second he was out the door, Zayn sunk down onto the couch and just sat there, staring blankly at the television, despite the fact that it wasn’t even on.

Liam was seeing someone. A female someone. Hell, maybe he’d never really been into Zayn. Maybe he was actually straight, and he just hadn’t known it until Zayn. Well good for him. Zayn was glad to have helped him realize that about himself. Totally glad.

It made sense, actually. That would explain why they did these weird little after school hangouts and it never evolved into something else. And it explained why Liam had pushed him away on his birthday, when Zayn had tried to kiss him. Liam, it turned out, wasn’t into him at all.

And that was fucking great, actually. It took a weight off Zayn’s shoulder, because now he could just get over him. If there wasn’t any chance of anything happening there, why would he bother caring about Liam that way? They’d be friends. That’s what they’d be. Good friends. The whole freaking situation was good. Great, even. Fucking wonderful.

Zayn pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Louis, who picked it up on the second ring. “Let’s go out,” Zayn said as soon as he said hello.

“It’s a Monday,” Louis pointed out, but he didn’t sound like he was really protesting.

“We don’t have to get drunk,” Zayn bargained. “I just need to get out. And get laid.”

“Zayn,” Louis said quietly. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Zayn told him. “And nothing’s going to happen. He’s got a date, and I really don’t care. I just want to have sex. It’s been too long since I’ve hooked up with someone anyways.”

“Okay,” Louis said, dragging out the word. “You sure that’s the best way to deal with this?”

“To deal with what? I told you, I’m doing this because I want to, not because I’m, like, jealous. Or pinning. Jesus Christ, Louis, I’m not some love sick puppy, I want to fuck, okay? Can we not look for the hidden meaning in everything for once?”

“Do it yourself, then,” Louis snapped.

Zayn stared down at the phone before bringing it back to his ear. “What?”

“You heard me,” Louis told him. “You want to fuck this up instead of trying to fix it, go ahead, but I’m not helping. Go yourself. Have fun. Use protection. Call me when you’ve pulled your shit together.”

“My shit’s always been together,” Zayn spat.

Louis let out a bark of laughter. “You keep telling yourself that, babe.”

“Louis,” Zayn felt like he was cracking all over. He couldn’t deal with this, on top of Liam. He couldn’t. “I can’t deal with this.”

“Yeah, but you can, though, Zayn,” Louis said. “You just don’t want to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Louis sighed heavily. “Look, Zayn, I’m not trying to be hard on you, okay. I just don’t want to sit around and watch your bury yourself because things didn’t work out.”

“What do you want me to do, then?” Zayn demanded. “You want me to sit at home and cry about it? Because--.”

“Come out with me,” Louis said suddenly. “I’ve got to meet Ben to talk over the set. Come with us.”

“I don’t--,”

“I’ll be there in half an hour. I will physically remove you from the apartment Zayn, so help me God.”

Half an hour later, when Louis pulled up out front, Zayn was waiting there, hands tucked into the pockets of Liam’s sweater, because it was conveniently hanging by the front door. Louis took one look at it, gave him a concerned look, and then jumped out of the car and hugged him.

Zayn spent the better half of the evening trying to picture what Liam’s date would be like, what she would look like, whether Liam’s eyes would crinkle at the sides when he smiled at her. Louis threw a meatball at him. He felt a bit better after that, weirdly enough.

 

* * *

 

**Harry**

Liam was dating the girl from Niall’s work. Niall was dating Gemma. And Harry was painfully single. It’s not that he was one of those people that _needed_ to be in a relationship, but when both of your best mates were getting some, it was a little hard not to be painfully aware of how you weren’t.

He was having dinner with John and Yvette. The wedding was in late March, and Harry’s father apparently wanted to talk to him about a few things. He was going to bring Liam along with him, but Liam was busy.

“I’ve got to study with Zayn,” he’d said apologetically. “And then I told Danielle I’d go see the new Twilight movie with her.”

Harry had let it go after that, because he wasn’t even going to try and understand what the hell was going on there. Liam had spent every minute from after school until about five or six at Zayn’s for the past week and a half, but for the last couple days he’d been seeing Danielle.

To be honest, Harry hadn’t been too sure if Liam and Danielle would work. He liked Danielle, and he thought she was brilliant, but he also didn’t really know where Liam stood, sexually. And he also didn’t really know what Liam liked in a partner, except what he knew about Zayn, and Harry refused to set Liam up with someone else like that. Liam and the actual Zayn was already hard enough to deal with.

The thing was, Liam seemed just as into Zayn as he had been when he’d first been introduced to Danielle. He also knew that Liam had kissed her, and that he thought she was, “Sweet and funny.” And yet, he still spent every afternoon with Zayn.

Niall was working, so he couldn’t bring him. He ended up having to go himself, and he was dreading it. Totally, completely dreading it, because the dinner was going to be awkward as hell.

It wasn’t until he was driving by Louis’ house, and noticed how Louis’ car was in the driveway, that he realized there was one other possible person he could drag into this with him.

Things with Louis were… well, they weren’t anything, really, after Zayn’s party. He wasn’t sure who was to blame for that, but since they weren’t ever really friends, Harry tried not to let it bother him.

Now, though, he parked his car in his father’s lot and headed over to Louis’ house. He hoped that Louis’ mum or dad didn’t answer the door. Especially his dad, actually, after what Louis had told him.

They didn’t.

The door opened and Louis stood there, frowning. He was wearing a simple outfit, but Harry didn’t really notice it, because he was wearing glasses. Harry didn’t even know that Louis wore glasses. It was really, really hot.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed without meaning to. “I mean-- hi.”

“Hi,” Louis said, putting a hand on his hip. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, actually,” Harry said, leaning back on his heels, trying to clear his head, because someone wearing _glasses_ , for Christ’s sake, should not be that attractive. “I have this dinner thing, with Jo-- my dad, and I wanted to know if you felt like suffering through it with me.”

Louis blinked. “You want me to come to a family dinner with you.”

“It’s not a family dinner,” Harry told him.

Louis pursed his lips. “Okay.”

“Right, I figured you wouldn’t want to, but-- what?”

“Okay,” Louis repeated. “Give me two minutes to change and put in my contacts.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, cool. But-- don’t put in the contacts. You look hot with glasses on.”

Louis shut the door between them but not before Harry caught the flush in his cheeks.

He sat down on Louis’ front step and waited. It wasn’t even two minutes later when the door opened and Louis came back out, this time dressed in a pair of jeans and a dress shirt. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“It’s just dinner with John,” he told Louis.

Louis shrugged. “You’re not from here, young Harry,” Louis said, smirking. “Nothing is ever just dinner.”

Harry rolled his eyes at that and started down the walk towards his father’s house, Louis walking beside him. He considered knocking on the door, just to be spiteful, because John always pointed out that it was Harry’s home, too, and he didn’t need to knock, but he just walked in at the last second.

The moment the door shut behind them, John appeared, narrowing his eyes. “You’re late,” he told Harry, and then his eyes widened. “You brought a guest.”

“Mr. Styles,” Louis said, smiling brightly.

“Louis,” John looked between the two of them. “You didn’t tell me you were inviting anyone.”

Harry shrugged. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone until about five months before you were due to marry her.”

“Come on in, both of you,” John said, ignoring him and gesturing to the kitchen.

Yvette was inside, hair pulled back in a bun. Her eyes widened at the extra guest but she took it much more gracefully than John did, swooping in to drop an extra plate on the table without hesitation.

“Harry,” Yvette said, kissing his cheek, like it was something they _did_ , which it wasn’t. “And-- boyfriend?”

“Friend,” Louis corrected quickly.

“Oh,” Yvette took that in stride. “Where are Niall and Liam?”

“Shooting up heroine, last time I checked,” Harry said, straight faced.

He was being a dick and he knew it. And he knew he couldn’t help it, which is why he dragged Louis with him. His father would keep his calm with someone else there, needing to keep up appearances.

It was like… sometimes, he could handle it all. He could just deal with his father and everything else. And some days he really, really couldn’t. Couldn’t forget the fact that this is the man who had not only broken his mother’s heart, but who had broken his own heart, too, by leaving him. Who had made Harry feel like he wasn’t good enough for the longest time, because why else would he have come into their lives only to duck out again? Because he’d decided that the family life with them just wasn’t worth it. And Harry couldn’t forgive something like that. He was far too good at holding a grudge.

Louis made a loud, strangled coughing sound. “That smells great,” he said, looking at the stove.

Yvette smiled brightly at him. “Thank you. Though, between us, it was premade. I just threw it into the pan.”

“My mum does the same thing,” Louis told her, sliding into one of the seats at the table. Harry sat down directly beside him, and his father sat at the head of the table.

“Tea or wine?” Yvette asked.

“Wine,” Harry said instantly.

“Tea, please,” Louis answered, shooting Harry a look.

Louis added cream to his tea and sipped it slowly, while Harry took a large sip of his wine. He would have kept the bottle beside him, if he were allowed, but he seriously doubted that he was.

A few minutes, and too much painfully awkward small talk later, Yvette dished out the pasta and salad and then sat across from Harry’s father, at the seat beside Harry. Harry ate slowly, unable to deny that it tasted good. Then again, it had better, given what they’d probably paid for it.

Louis ate daintily, Harry noticed, and he smirked to himself while watching it.

“So we wanted to talk to you about guests,” his father said abruptly. “I know that you and your friends are inseparable, but I’m going to need a set number so we know that we have enough seats.”

Harry didn’t remember even agreeing to go to the wedding in the first place, and he wasn’t sure if he still would, either. “I need four,” he said anyways, just in case he changed his mind last minute.

“Four?” his father frowned. “You’re bringing a date?”

“No,” Harry told him. “If I’m going to put on a suit and a bright, _happy_ smile, I’m going to need to surround myself by people that don’t make me want to throw something. So, Liam, Niall, Louis and Zayn.”

“Zayn,” his father repeated. “You’re friends with the Malik boy, too?”

Harry shot a glance at Louis, and then looked back at his father. “You know him?”

Harry’s father looked down awkwardly at his food. “Communities like this, everyone talks. When they threw out that boy four years ago--,”

“I think it’s hardly anyone else’s business,” Louis said sharply.

John blinked at him. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “I apologize.”

“Anyone want more wine?” Yvette cut in.

And that was pretty much that for the dinner. They all ate quietly, the only sounds really being the clatter of utensils and Yvette’s and Louis’ failed attempts at conversation. It wasn’t until Harry was done eating that his dad brought up the next question.

“I’d like it if you could invite Gemma for me.”

Harry looked up at him and snorted. “You think she’s going to want to come when you can’t even call to invite her?”

His father’s eyes narrowed. “I understand that you have a guest over, Harry, but that does not give you the right to talk to me with so much insolence.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “And what about mum? You want me to pass along her invitation, too?”

The anger flared out of his father’s eyes, and Yvette put her fork down loudly, loud enough that Harry almost looked over to see if she’d broken her plate.

“Neither of you told him?” she demanded.

John sighed. “I’m handling it now, love,” he said. “Harry-- your mother and I have already discussed this, and--,”

“She’s not invited,” Harry guessed.

“Oh, no, she’s invited,” his father assured him. “I’ve already given her the invitation and signed on an extra chair for herself and her fiancé.”

Harry cocked his head to the side, his hearing suddenly obscured. “What was that? I could have sworn you’d said--,”

“Fiancé,” his father repeated. “Her and her _fiancé_.”

His hearing really was obscured after that, because the only thing he could hear was the loud sound of his blood pounding inside of him, and every other sound came through a thin, blocked tunnel. His hand released his fork and it fell onto the plate, smearing red sauce on everything. He opened his mouth to say something, _do_ something, but before he could, a warm hand was on his thigh, and Harry looked down at it.

Louis squeezed his leg and Harry tensed, but didn’t move.

“Oh,” Louis said suddenly, looking down at his own lap. He looked up at Yvette and John. “I’m on the school’s theatre committee, and they’re actually doing my play this year. It appears that there’s been a problem with the set design.” Louis sighed loudly. “This is extremely important. I shouldn’t have left it to Brad, to be honest. The lad is a lost cause, really, but I don’t get to choose these people. I need to go. Is there anyway I could steal Harry away from you? His help would be greatly appreciated.”

John looked taken aback, but Yvette nodded. “You boys have fun,” she told them, and for the first time, Harry decided that he liked her.

Once they were out of the kitchen, the only thing keeping Harry upright was Louis’ hand on the small of his back, guiding him out the door and into his car. Louis held out his hand and Harry handed over the keys without looking at him or speaking.

“I don’t want to help with your set design,” Harry said finally, when they were far from his father’s house.

“Good thing I don’t need you to,” Louis said.

Harry blinked at him. “But you said--,”

“I was getting us away from _that_ before someone went ballistic. I can’t believe you dragged me into that, by the way. You’re an ass, you know that?”

Harry gave him an apologetic look. “I didn’t--,”

“Yeah, you did,” Louis said firmly. “And I get it, trust me, Zayn used to pull the same shit with me. Just consider yourself lucky that I have experience with evacuating soldiers from the trenches.”

Harry nodded. Tomorrow, maybe, he’d thank Louis for this. He just couldn’t right now. “I didn’t even know she was seeing someone,” Harry said quietly. “I didn’t know. No one told me. Everyone keeps everything from me.”

“I’m sure she was planning on telling you when she thought the time was right,” Louis said, trying to placate him.

Harry didn’t wanted to be placated. “Everybody says that, but when is the right time?”

“You’re so dramatic,” Louis told him, taking his eyes off the road long enough to roll them at Harry. “Honestly, you’re lucky the whole angst ridden teenager thing looks good on you.”

Harry ignored him. “Can I drive?”

“You sure that’s a good idea? I read once that you’re not supposed to operate a vehicle when you’re under extreme duress or in a rage, and I’m pretty sure you’re both of those things right now.”

“Louis.”

“Fine,” Louis sighed, pulling over to the side of the road. He put the car in park.

Harry undid his seatbelt and went to open his door to walk around the car when Louis was suddenly in his lap. He’d crawled over the seat divider with ease, and his legs were on both sides of Harry’s waist, his hands on the seat beside Harry’s head.

“Harry,” Louis said quietly. “Do you ever relax?”

“Kind of hard, given the fact that you’re sitting in my lap,” Harry told him, shifting a bit under Louis’ weight. He mentally told himself not to get a boner. It wasn’t really working.

“Just calm down for a moment, yeah?” Louis instructed.

“Yeah.” Harry licked his lips. “This your way of trying to distract me?”

Louis nodded, smirking. “Is it working?”

“I think it’d work a lot better if you--,” Louis kissed him, cutting off the end of his sentence.

Louis’ tongue followed the path that Harry’s own had just moments ago, and Harry’s lips fell open, his tongue moving out to meet it. He tasted like tea and spaghetti sauce, but Harry really didn’t mind, because he smelled like Louis, a mixture between girl shampoo and cologne that Harry didn’t think he’d ever get enough of.

Harry’s hands went to Louis’ waist, and Louis leaned into him a bit more, his hips sliding forward so that their groins pressed together. Harry groaned into Louis’ mouth, and Louis’ hands moved to his hair.

They were parked on the side of some random street, the car still running, and Harry didn’t care if he was wasting gas or if someone was going to see them and get them in trouble. He’d get in any kind of trouble as long as he could keep kissing Louis.

“Did I tell you how fucking hot you look in glasses?” Harry asked, pulling back a bit.

“Do you have a kink that I don’t know about?”

Harry put a stop to any more talking by closing the distance between their lips again. His hands slid up under Louis’ shirt, fingers digging into Louis’ skin a bit. It was a bit overwhelming, the way that Louis’ hips were soft, but his stomach was all hard muscle. Harry couldn’t help it; he rolled his body against Louis’, noting, with the press of their bodies, that Louis was just as into this, apparently, as Harry was.

And then the door opened, and Louis gracefully slipped off Harry’s lap and out the door. Harry sat there, gaping at him, wondering why he felt so cold without Louis on top of him.

Louis straightened his clothes and raised an eyebrow. “I’m a bit too classy for that. Back to yours, maybe?”

Harry really didn’t want to go back to his house. He didn’t want to see his mum just yet, to have her try and explain why she’d kept something like that from him. But Louis was standing there, lips slick and hair a bit mused and this look in his eyes, and Harry was just-- powerless.

“Okay,” he agreed, climbing out of the car. He let his hand brush Louis’ as he walked around to the other side of the car and got in the driver’s seat.

Louis was all grins the drive home, and Harry wondered if, at any moment, he was going to pull back and block Harry out again. But he didn’t. He just sat there and hummed along to the radio and looked at Harry when he thought Harry wouldn’t notice.

When he pulled up to his house, all the lights were on. Niall wouldn’t be back for another hour or so. He turned off the car and turned to Louis. “Can I ask you something before we go inside?”

Louis shrugged. “Sure.”

“What the fuck?” Harry asked. “I mean, last time I kissed you, you sort of just--,” he waved a hand, “and then tonight you just out of the blue kissed me, and I’m not complaining, definitely not complaining, I’m just… a bit lost.”

Louis sighed and fiddled with his seatbelt. “I don’t think I could explain it all to you, because I’m still coming to terms with everything myself. It’s just-- New Years was great for me, and I sort of panicked because I guess I was still trying to deny half of myself, you know? And I recently took a step back, took an objective look at the situation, and told myself to get it the fuck together. So-- that’s what this is. Me getting it together.”

Harry frowned at him. He really didn’t want to ruin the moment, but he couldn’t help it. “I don’t want to be some experiment for you, Louis. I can’t be.”

Louis laughed easily. “You’re not. Trust me. This isn’t me trying to work through my sexuality, okay? This is me trying to fix something that I shouldn’t have broken in the first place, but I did at the time because I was scared.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “Yeah, okay.” He nodded and got out of the car, Louis following behind him, and led Louis inside with a, “I’m just going to let her know that we’re upstairs, and not to bother us.”

“She’s going to allow that?” Louis asked, already slipping out of his shoes. “She’s not going to assume we’re up to something?”

“I’m always up to something,” Harry said, shrugging. “I think she’s used to it by now.”

Louis rolled his eyes and Harry instructed him on how to get to his room, and then he headed into the living room, because he hadn’t seen his mum in the kitchen from the front window. She wasn’t in there, but her car was in the driveway.

“Mum?” Harry called, frowning. She didn’t answer. He headed into the kitchen.

He couldn’t understand what he found there. It felt like it took him years to really process it, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. The cup was broken, that was the first thing that he really got. There was cream coloured tea covering the floor beside it, seeping into her hair.

And he screamed. It was the only thing he could do. It was the only thing he could hear. Except for someone who was gripping his arm tightly and shouting, “I’m calling an ambulance. Harry? Harry!”

 

* * *

 

**Louis**

He didn’t know what to do. He wished he were Liam, or Niall, or someone who actually knew how to comfort Harry. Someone who actually had a right to comfort him.

Apparently he was enough for Harry, though, because from the time the ambulance arrived, all the way to the hospital, and even once they were in the hospital, Harry’s hand didn’t leave his. It felt like Harry was trying to merge their hands together, he was holding on so tight. It was painful, but not nearly as painful as the helplessly destroyed look on Harry’s face.

They were stuck in the waiting room while Harry’s mum was rushed to the ER for her possible head injury. They weren’t sure what had caused the fall yet, but it wasn’t anything fatal, according to the doctors who’d spoken to them.

Harry attempted to call Liam and his dad, but his fingers had been shaking so much that he’d dropped the phone. Louis bent down to pick it up and call Liam for him.

“Liam,” Louis said when he answered. “I need to tell you something, and you’re going to just stay calm, okay, because we don’t need you freaking out too. Everything is fine, I assure you, everyone is going to be alright, but Harry’s mum had a bit of a fall, and we’re at the hospital--,”

“I’ll be there,” Liam said instantly, and Louis could hear him moving around in his room. “Just-- don’t leave him, okay? Tell him I’ll be right there.”

“Liam’s going to be here as soon as he can,” Louis told Harry, who just nodded mutely. Louis hung up the phone after and went to put it back in Harry’s pocket, but Harry stopped him.

“Call my dad,” he said. “Please.”

Louis nodded and found John’s contact number, and pressed talk. The phone continued to ring. And ring. Finally, he got a voicemail and he left a quick message.

“Call him again,” Harry croaked.

Louis did as he was told, trying John four more times before Harry took the phone from him and leaned on Louis’ shoulder. That’s how Liam found them a few minutes later, Louis’ hand trapped between their bodies, his other hand rubbing what he hoped were calming circles into Harry’s back.

“She’s okay?” Liam asked quietly, kneeling in front of them.

Louis nodded and Harry didn’t do anything. Liam put a hand on Harry’s knee, and Harry’s freehand went to Liam’s hair. He ran his fingers through it slowly, and Liam did nothing to stop him.

Eventually one of the doctors came out and told them that Harry’s mother would be fine. She had a bit of a concussion from the fall, but other than that, she would be okay. Apparently she had low blood sugar, which caused the initial fall, and the head trauma was what knocked her out.

Harry took all of this in without a word, but his fingers tightened impossibly more in Louis’.

“She’ll have to stay here until tomorrow night, though,” the doctor told them. “Would you like to stay with her?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Liam can stay too.” It wasn’t a question.

The doctor nodded. “She’s being moved to a patient room for the night. She’ll be on the floor below this, in room 202.” He left them after that, and Harry slowly sat up, his fingers uncurling from around Louis’.

Louis flexed his fingers, blood returning to them painfully fast. They felt prickly and too hot.

“You can go home,” Harry told him. “But-- come back tomorrow after school?”

Louis nodded. “I will,” he promised, and he’d keep that promise.

Without thinking he leaned in and kissed Harry lightly on the lips. It wasn’t the same heated kiss they’d shared in the car, or in London. It was quick and soft and Louis thought that it meant more than the others.

He left the hospital then without realizing he had no way home. He called a cab, not caring that the price to get from this side of town back home was going to be high.

He only remembered, while he was in the cab, heading home, that he’d had a date with Ben that night. He’d completely forgotten, and Ben hadn’t even texted him to remind him. Louis figured that was for the best. He didn’t feel anything for Ben, really, other than mild attraction that had dwindled more every time they spent time together.

When he got home no one asked him where he’d been, or commented on the late hour. Louis didn’t really mind. When he climbed into bed he realized that he should have went over to Harry’s dad’s house to tell him what had happened, but by then he was already undressed and too tired to move.

He couldn’t remember anything from any of his lessons the next day. He spent most of them staring at his phone, waiting for Harry to text him back. He never did. Of course, Louis realized that this was most likely because Harry hadn’t been home, and his phone was probably dead. It did little to stop the worrying, though.

He didn’t even know what the hell happened yesterday, because he was honestly done with Harry at that point, and then he’d showed up at Louis’ door, and he couldn’t help it. He said yes, because he wanted to, and maybe-- maybe he and Harry was another thing he could fix, now that he was a little better at admitting the truth to himself.

The kiss-- that had been an accident. A spur of the moment thing. And he didn’t regret it one bit. And going home with Harry, too, wasn’t something he regretted. In fact, he was more than grateful that he had, because if he had to find out that Harry had went home by himself to find his mum like that, Louis would have lost it.

Sure, he probably hadn’t been the most comforting presence, but he figured that anyone had been better than no one.

When he got to the hospital, Liam greeted him, looking exhausted. “His dad just showed up,” Liam told him quietly. He handed out a Styrofoam cup to Louis. “It tastes terrible but trust me, you’re going to want the caffeine.”

Louis nodded and the two of them took the elevator to the second floor, only to find Harry and John standing in the hallway. A nurse hovered near by, watching them warily, but she didn’t ask them to keep their voices down or to leave.

“-- you a hundred times!” Harry was shouting, and Liam winced. “I needed you here, and you weren’t. You never are! Not when it’s important! Just when it’s convenient!”

“Harry,” John looked genuinely distraught, and Liam had dropped his eyes to the ground. “I didn’t know--,”

“Why are you even here now? I don’t want you here, and she sure as fuck doesn’t want you here,” Harry said scathingly. “I don’t get why you even bothered to come now.”

Louis blinked at the blind rage in Harry’s voice. His face was red, and his curls were matted to his forehead with sweat. Louis took a hesitant step towards them, but Liam put a hand on his arm and shook his head, warning him not to.

The thing was, Louis didn’t really listen to other people all that often. Not even sensible, probably right Liam.

“You should have answered,” Harry spat. “You should have known, and you should have been here when you were needed. It’s too late to apologize and act like it’s all fucking fine and dandy.”

“Harry,” Louis stepped up behind him, and Harry whirled, eyes wild, hands raised. Louis caught Harry’s wrists in his hands and lowered them while Harry breathed heavily. Louis made a point of completely ignoring John’s presence. “She awake?”

Harry nodded and just stood there, eyes wide, the angry set in his mouth slowly fading away, his fists uncurling.

“Care to introduce me to the wonderful woman who birthed you?” Louis asked, smiling.

Harry looked over his shoulder at his dad, and then back at Louis. “Okay.”

“Actually, we’re not finished here--,” John cut in, but Harry narrowed his eyes at him.

“Actually, we are.”

Harry dragged Louis into the room by the hand, and Louis let himself be guided. Harry’s mum was sitting up in the bed, a deeply upset look on her face. “You are in so much trouble--,” her eyes widened as she took in Louis. “Who’s this?”

“Louis,” Harry told her, not releasing Louis’ hand.

“Louis,” she repeated. “Expensive Car Louis?”

Harry nodded and Louis extended his hand to her. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am. I hope you’re feeling better today.”

“I am,” she said, shaking his hand. “Thank you.”

“Louis was with me last night,” Harry told her, pausing between words to swallow. “When I found you.”

Her expression softened considerably. “Thank you for making sure he was okay,” she told Louis.

“Anytime,” Louis said, and then realized he meant it. He really, honestly did. “Really,” he added softer, squeezing Harry’s hand.

“I like him,” Anne told Harry. “But we’re going to have a nice, long chat about the way you speak to your father, do you understand me?”

“Duly noted.”

She nodded. “Go tell poor Liam he can go home and get some rest, yeah?”

Harry nodded, too, and guided Louis back out of the room. Liam was nowhere in sight, and neither was John. Harry shrugged and said, “We’ll just wait here for him to get back. He’s probably in the bathroom.”

“That’s fine,” Louis agreed, and this time he was the one who guided Harry, over to the scattering of chairs by the wall. They sat down beside each other, and Louis examined their entwined hands. Louis was man enough to admit that his hands weren’t the largest, but Harry’s were enormous. They almost completely enveloped his own in a way that should have bothered him a bit, but really didn’t.

“Can I ask you something again?” Harry questioned, pulling Louis away from thoughts of their hands. Louis nodded. “Whatever-- _this_ is, you’ll warn me next time before you decide to freak out and run off?”

Louis frowned. “What if I don’t plan on freaking out or running off any time soon?”

“Then that’s-- good,” Harry said finally. “Good.”

Liam came back from the bathroom a few minutes later. Louis noticed, this time, how tired he looked. His hair was a mess, too, and he flopped onto the seat beside Louis. “Your dad told me to tell you that he’s sorry, again.”

Harry snorted. “Sorry doesn’t always cut it.”

“No,” Liam agreed, “it doesn’t.”

“He didn’t show up last night, then?” Louis guessed.

“Nope,” Harry said thinly. “Not until about five minutes before you did. Which is a good thing, actually, because I think I might have punched him if you hadn’t been there.”

“You’ve got quite the temper, Styles,” Louis informed him.

“I’m good at channelling it into other things though, Tomlinson,” Harry countered, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Want to find out what those things are?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “We’re in a hospital, you pervert.”

“Exactly. Think of all the empty rooms we could--,”

Liam coughed loudly. “Are you staying for a while?” he asked Louis.

Louis nodded. “Yeah, you can head home for a bit. I’ll look after him.”

Harry looked up at Liam, who had stood up. “They’re releasing her in a few hours, so I’ll be okay for the night, I think. I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

Liam hesitated and looked between the two of them before nodding. “Yeah, alright.”

“Thanks again, Liam, yeah? You’re wonderful, just so you know.”

Liam chuckled and gave them a small sort of wave that had Louis laughing, until Harry elbowed him in the ribs. “I have to go back in there,” Harry said after a moment. “She’s going to chew me out.”

Louis leaned in and brushed his lips against Harry’s. “You have something to look forward to afterwards.”

“Really?” Harry asked, leaning back in a bit so that his lips ghosted over Louis’ as he spoke.

“Mhm.”

Harry jumped up immediately and headed towards his mum’s room. He spun around at the last second, though. “Don’t you dare move while I’m in there, Louis.”

Louis waved him off. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry grinned at him one last time before going into the room. Louis could hear Harry’s mum shouting at him, and he laughing quietly to himself when Harry whined at her.

He sat there and waited, like he promised, and he spent the time wondering why this thing with Harry had been so easy to fall so quickly into. Why it just felt right.

 

* * *

 

**Niall**

The first few days after Anne returned home, Niall and Harry did their best to leave nothing for her to do. Niall cleaned the house, and Harry cooked every meal. He was good at that, too, Niall found out. He was surprisingly impressed.

Niall had been worried, when he found out about Anne, and had rushed over to the hospital as soon as he could. He ended up staying the night there with Harry and Liam, despite the nurses protests. He left earlier in the day than Liam had, because Harry sent him away, telling him that he needed to get some proper sleep, and that he’d be fine with Liam.

Niall had went home, but he didn’t sleep right away. He called Gemma, to see if she was okay. She was in a slight panic, though Niall had been there when Harry assured her that everything was fine.

He fell asleep as soon as he said goodbye to her and didn’t wake up again until Anne and Harry were home. He’d stretched and ran downstairs to see if they needed anything. Anne just hugged him with one arm and told him not to worry. She wasn’t going to let a little fall break her.

The other thing about the next few days was that Louis was a constant presence in the house, too. Every time he came over he’d have something with him, like a box of tea or a thing of cookies from the bakery down the street that Harry had used to work at.

According to Harry, they weren’t dating, technically, but Niall really didn’t see what else you could call it. They just hadn’t labelled it yet, was all.

Liam had Danielle, too, though he didn’t see or hear as much about that as he did about Louis and Harry. He figured it was because that was just how Liam was, more reserved and less in your face than Harry. It made him realize how much he missed Gemma, though. How much he envied the two of them, having the person they wanted to be with within a ten minute drive.

He also went to visit his parents. There were a few things he needed from his room, things he hadn’t grabbed the last time he was there, because he figured he’d be returning eventually. Now, though, he knew that he wasn’t. No matter what happened after graduation -- whether he got the scholarship he applied for or not-- he was going to get a place of his own. He’d been saving up a good chunk of his pay checks, which came in every two weeks, to prepare for that. He gave almost all the rest of it to Anne, despite her protests. He wasn’t going to let her just take care of him when he wasn’t her problem to deal with.

All the saved up money was to be prepared for last months rent, and for furniture. He made enough money at his job -- or he would, once the community service was completely done and over with-- to afford a cheap apartment for himself closer to where Zayn lived. As much as he loved living with Harry and his family, he anticipated that day, too, because it would be great to finally have a place of his own, where he didn’t feel bad for taking up space or costing other people money.

He also needed his mum to sign his community service paperwork. She was still his guardian, and they needed a signature on the papers.

He’d wanted to call first to set up a time, but when he had, no one answered. In the end he had Harry drop him off with the promise to be there to pick him up in half an hour, giving him enough time to pack.

When he walked in, the house was mostly quiet, except for the sound of the television. Niall hesitantly walked towards the living room to find his mum sitting on the couch, curled up with a blanket around her shoulder.

Her left eye was swollen shut, and her lip was split. Niall stumbled towards her, eyes wide. “Mum.”

She looked up at him, and he expected her face to be a mask of pain, or at least sadness. Instead, she smiled widely at him. “Come here,” she ordered, stretching out her arms. “Big Brother’s on. Watch a bit with me?”

Part of him wanted to say no, but a bigger part had him going over to the couch and falling to the floor. His mum wrapped her arms around him from behind, and she rested her chin on his shoulder to see over him.

“He’s gone, you know,” she said after a while of them just sitting there.

“Because of that?” Niall asked, knowing he didn’t need to elaborate on what ‘that’ he meant.

“No,” his mum chuckled, “that is a result of me kicking him out. But it’s not too bad. Don’t worry about it, sweetie.”

Niall swallowed thickly. “Why’d you kick him out?”

“Because,” she brushed a hand through his hair, like she had when he was younger, “I wanted you to come back home.”

Niall turned to look at her. “You haven’t even talked to me since-- since--,”

“I was letting you go,” she said softly. “I realized, after you left, that I was just as horrible as he was, letting that go on. I figured you were better off where you were. You were safe, you were _happy_. I didn’t want to take that away from you.”

“You could have told me he was gone.”

His mum sat up and he noted the tears in her eyes. “I know,” she admitted. “But I wanted you to come back when you were ready.”

“I wasn’t--,” Niall shook his head. “I wasn’t coming back to stay. I was coming to get a few things.”

Her smile didn’t fall off her face, but her eyes got sadder. “That’s fine, too, baby,” she told him. “I just want you to know that if you ever decide to forgive me, you can come back. He’s not allowed in this house anymore. I actually-- I actually got a restraining order.”

Niall didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know what to say to anything. His head was swimming with everything she’d said, and he couldn’t pin point any single emotion. It was like he was feeling them all at once. Annoyance, because it wasn’t fair for her to make _him_ feel bad. Anger, because she was hurt. Sadness, because it wasn’t fair that some people got everything in life, while others got the shit end of it.

Mostly, he just felt tired.

“Your father is a very angry man,” his mum told him, “and I’ve known it for a while, but I tried to act like everything was okay, because that’s the only thing I thought I could do. We were a family, and families are supposed to stick together, I told myself. Even when things are rough. It wasn’t until you left that I realized that it wasn’t true.”

Niall was quiet.

“We would have been fine without him for years,” she said, breaking the silence.

“But we weren’t,” Niall countered.

“No, we weren’t, and that was my mistake, and I take full blame for that. I do. You have every right to be mad at me, I’m not going to ask you to feel any different, but I love you, Niall, and you’ve always been the most important thing to me, I just need you to know that.”

Niall nodded. “I know that.” _Now_.

“Want me to help you pack the rest of your things?”

Niall nodded and they both got up. There wasn’t much talking as they put the rest of his things into bags. It wasn’t until Harry pulled up out front that Niall said something.

“Do you think-- on the weekend, maybe, that I could stay here?” Niall asked. He’d been thinking about it the whole time he’d been packing. He couldn’t come back and live there with her. There was too much inside of him that still resented her almost as much as he hated his dad. But-- he wanted to see if he could fix that. If he could forgive her, and if she’d actually meant it when she said he wasn’t coming back.

“Of course,” she told him, hugging him tightly. “It might not be your home anymore, but it always could be again, if you wanted it to.”

He wasn’t ready for that, just yet, so he just nodded at her and hugged her back before going out to the car. He loaded his things into the backseat and then got into the passenger. Harry raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything until they’d already pulled away.

“Your dad wasn’t home?” Harry guessed.

“No. She kicked him out, apparently.”

Harry nodded. “That’s good then, right?”

Niall shrugged. “It will be.”

Harry drove with only one hand on the wheel, and he used the other to squeeze Niall’s arm. “Want to drop this stuff off and then go play foosball at Lou’s?”

Niall laughed. “So he can kick my arse again?”

Harry grinned. “Winning always gets him in the mood to--,”

“Ew,” Niall said, lifting a hand to gesture for Harry to stop. “Don’t. I don’t want to know.”

“I was going to say it puts him in the mood to make out,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “We haven’t actually, you know, done anything. Other than that.”

Niall waggled his eyebrows. “Feeling a bit sexually deprived?”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “Just ‘cause he’s so hot, and he does this thing with his tongue, and I just really want to hold him down and--,” Harry cut himself off at that, thankfully. “How do you tell someone you want to be their boyfriend?”

Niall shrugged. “Just say, ‘Hey, Louis, we’re already dating so can I call you my boyfriend?’”

“We’re not already dating,” Harry pointed out. “We’re just-- frequently seeing each other. And kissing.”

“You’re dating,” Niall said firmly. “You’re both just really thick.”

“You’re thick,” Harry shot back.

Niall dropped his stuff off at Harry’s after that, Harry helping carry the bags in. He didn’t bother putting anything away, though, because Harry had already texted to Louis to let him know they were coming over, and once Harry decided to do something, there was no waiting. That, apparently, was enforced tenfold when it came to Louis.

“You guys are disgusting,” Niall informed him.

“You’re still dating my sister, so I really don’t think you have any right to say anything.”

Niall stuck his tongue out at him and turned up the radio. While he was looking out the window he decided that he was proud of his mum, even if he wasn’t ready to forgive her yet. But he would be, he knew, eventually.

 

 

* * *

 

**Liam**

Zayn Malik, Liam decided, was put on Earth to completely destroy him.

He thought that it would be easier, liking him when they were now friends. Thought that maybe he’d lose interest, with Danielle in his life. Danielle, who was all laughter and openness. Who thought he was funny and smiled whenever she wanted and kissed him whenever she wanted, too.

He liked her, he did. He liked her a lot. Just not the way that he liked Zayn. He told himself that it would take time, that’s all. It wasn’t like he’d just immediately fallen into-- whatever it was that you would call what he and Zayn had been. Eventually, he told himself, it would be Danielle he’d want to curl up on the couch and watch boring movies with; it would be Danielle that he wanted to be able to wrap his arms around whenever he got the chance; it would be Danielle that he’d think of when she kissed him.

And it just hadn’t happened yet.

Maybe it wasn’t helping, spending all the time working on his English with Zayn, but he couldn’t make himself stop. Not even when he felt guilty about it. He really did need the help on the work, at least. That wasn’t a lie. But if he said that was the only reason he’d go to Zayn’s after school and sprawl out on the floor beside the other boy, surrounded by cigarette smoke and the words of William Shakespeare, as read by Zayn, then he’d be lying.

He’d been good at denying that to himself for a bit, though, until the Thursday when he’d went over to Zayn’s - Zayn had texted him not long before and said to just let himself in- to find Zayn still in the shower. The sound of the water running echoed loudly through the place and Liam busied himself with getting everything ready.

He hadn’t really stopped to think about the fact that Zayn was in the _shower_ , like, _showering. Naked_. At least, not until he came out of the small room, nothing but a towel hanging loosely around his hips. His hair seemed longer when it was wet, falling below his ears in inky strands, dripping water onto his shoulders. Liam picked out his favorite tattoo, the one on Zayn’s hip, and then his eyes drifted lower, and he swallowed, because, really, that wasn’t fucking fair. It really wasn’t.

“You okay?” Zayn asked, pausing on the way to his bedroom.

“Totally,” Liam answered, voice higher than usual.

Zayn snorted and headed into his room, and Liam leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. He really hoped that Zayn didn’t notice the way Liam’s eyes lingered on the planes of his stomach, or the indentations on his hips that disappeared under the towel. Liam wasn’t stupid. He got that Zayn just wanted to be friends, and that was fine with him. Zayn didn’t call him babe anymore, or wink at him, or let his eyes linger on Liam for longer than they needed to.

Liam wasn’t really surprised. He knew Zayn’s interest in him would only be fleeting anyways, and he was grateful that they were still friendly, at least. And if he wanted something more than that, well, he had a girlfriend, and those kind of thoughts were not only unfair to her, but unfair to Zayn, too, because his friendship should have been enough for Liam, and it really wasn’t fair for Liam to want more than that.

When Zayn came back, Liam was already scribbling in his notebook. He wrote Danielle’s name a few times, trying to remind himself of the wonderful girl he was _dating_ , who it wouldn’t be fair to, if he’d been ogling Zayn.

“We’re almost done with this,” Zayn told him as he grabbed the large, flat book that the school handed out to every student in his English class that had to read it. Liam learned to loathe and love that book. Well, he loathed it fifty percent of the time, and the other fifty percent was when Zayn was reading it to him, or explaining parts of it, and during those times he found himself loving it.

“Thank God,” Liam said, because that’s what he figured he was supposed to say. He couldn’t just admit that, no matter how boring it was, he never wanted the play to end, because if it ended, he’d lose his excuse to plant himself down in Zayn’s living room.

Zayn rolled his eyes at him and started reading. There was something obscene about the way Zayn’s lips formed the words, and his accent went smooth and lilting to differentiate between the different characters. Sometimes it went deeper, too, and his accent got stronger.

“Li,” Zayn snapped his fingers a few inches from Liam’s face. “Pay attention.”

“I am,” Liam said quickly.

Zayn arched an eyebrow. His hair was still damp, too, and Liam wanted to run his fingers through it. “Then what did I just say?”

“Um.” Liam’s eyes dropped to Zayn’s lips, and then back up to his eyes. “Okay, fine, I wasn’t. Sorry.”

“Never mind,” Zayn waved it off and put the book down. “You hungry? I’m just popping something in the microwave.”

Liam shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, because he didn’t really think he could eat right then.

Zayn shrugged, as if to say ‘suit yourself’ and then headed into the kitchen. Liam heard water running, and then the microwave going. A few minutes later, Zayn came back, a steaming bowl of microwavable ramen noodles in his hands.

“Is that your dinner?” Liam asked, frowning at him.

“Uh,” Zayn looked down at the bowl, then up at Liam. “Yeah?”

Liam shook his head and shoved his things in his bag, halfway to his feet already. “Come on,” he ordered, grabbing Zayn’s bowl. He put it on the coffee table and then offered Zayn a hand up. He ignored it but stood up. “My mum always makes a huge dinner. You like meatloaf and mash, right?”

Zayn frowned. “You want me to have dinner with you and your parents.”

Liam shouldered his bag. “Yes. Something wrong with that?”

Zayn hesitated, his eyes searching Liam’s face, until he finally said, “No, sounds good. I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t wrapped in plastic first.”

The whole drive to Liam’s house, Zayn’s leg was shaking. He wasn’t sure if he was jiggling it along to the music, or if he was actually nervous to meet Liam’s parents. He couldn’t help but grin widely at him either way.

“What?” Zayn snapped.

Liam shrugged. “You got your jacket back,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else.

Zayn looked down. “Yeah, I had to call the place I got wasted that night. Apparently I left it at the bar.”

They pulled up in front of Liam’s before anything else could be said. He could see his dad sitting at the kitchen table, and his mum flitting around the stove. Liam went to open his door but Zayn’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Wait.” Zayn’s eyes were wide. “I don’t have anything to worry about, right? I’m not going to get, like, twenty questions?”

Liam raised his eyebrows. “Probably not. I mean, it’s not like you’re my boyfriend.” Liam forced himself to laugh. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Did you introduce them to Danielle?” Zayn asked abruptly.

Liam shook his head, frowning. “No-- not yet.”

“So I’m first.” Zayn’s lips quirked up a bit.

“I guess.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Zayn pushed open his door and got out of the car. His door shut behind him before Liam even got his hand on the handle of his own.

Liam followed him up the walk and then pushed open the door. As they were kicking off their shoes, Liam’s dad came out of the kitchen. “Oh,” he said when he realized Liam wasn’t alone. “Who’s this?”

“This is--,”

“Zayn, sir.” Zayn extended his hand, looking every bit the polite boy he had when he’d met Harry’s dad, too, and Liam commended his ability to flip a switch and just pull that out. It kind of countered with the leather jacket and the skyscraper hair, though Liam hoped his dad wouldn’t focus on that too much.

“Zayn,” his father repeated. “And you’re…?”

“He’s the one who’s been helping me with English.”

“Well that’s nice of him,” his mum called. “Come on, bring him in the kitchen, then.”

Zayn gave Liam wide eyes and Liam nodded and stepped into the kitchen-slash-dinning room. “I wasn’t aware you were having help with your English work,” his father commented as Zayn gave Liam’s mum the same handshake and smile he had Liam’s dad.

“Yeah, you were,” Liam told him, frowning. “I brought you the failed test back to sign. If it wasn’t for Zayn, I never would have gotten a good enough grade.”

“Thank you for that, Zayn,” his father said, though he looked displeased with Liam as he and Zayn sat down.

In his house, there wasn’t one set homemaker and one worker. Both of his parents worked, and both of his parents cooked, and both of his parents cleaned. It just so happened that his dad’s meatloaf was terrible, so his mum was on kitchen duty that night. That meant that his dad got them drinks, and Liam set the table. Zayn sat there the whole time, looking slightly nervous.

It was kind of cruel, really, that Liam enjoyed that Zayn was nervous, but he couldn’t help it. Zayn wasn’t in his element, and Liam didn’t think that was even _possible_ , because he hadn’t thought that there was _anything_ Zayn couldn’t do.

As they ate, his parents asked simple questions about Liam and Zayn. Zayn was good, for the most part. If this was a test, which it wasn’t, he would have passed. With flying colours. Until Liam’s dad asked him what he was planning on doing after school.

Zayn froze, and Liam froze, and they just met each other’s eyes. “Um,” Zayn swallowed and put down his fork. “I’ve been thinking about doing an independent artistic study in London, possibly.”

Liam blinked. He had no idea exactly what Zayn had just said, but he was, like, ninety percent sure that it was just bullshit, wrapped in a pretty package. Liam grinned down at his food, resisting the urge to snort.

“That sounds lovely,” Liam’s mum said, though his dad was frowning. “You’re into art?”

Zayn nodded. “I considered looking into teaching, but I’m not sure how good I’d be with kids.”

“He’d be brilliant at it,” Liam cut in. “He’s a great teacher. I don’t think I’d be making it through Macbeth without his help.”

“You’re having trouble with Macbeth, too?” his dad asked, eyes narrowed.

Liam swallowed.

“No,” Zayn said quickly. “He’s doing great, actually. Really good.”

“Good,” his father nodded. “He’s got a scholarship to maintain.”

Liam ignored his dad’s words, eyes on Zayn’s face. He was looking down at his food, slowly shovelling bites into his mouth, and Liam felt suddenly too hot.

“This is really good,” Zayn added.

He didn’t have to do any of this, Liam realized. He could have said no to dinner. He could have been polite but quiet and distant with Liam’s parents. He didn’t have to compliment Liam’s mum, or jump to defend Liam. He didn’t have to help Liam with his work in the first place. Didn’t have to slave over it with him every day after school.

He didn’t have to answer any of Liam’s questions, either, the one’s whose answers were still scribbled all through his notebook, covering the margins of most of the pages. Each word a little peek into Zayn Malik.

Liam rubbed his hands on his jeans, thinking they were sweating, because he was _so hot_ all of a sudden, but they weren’t. They were dry. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, then, but that didn’t help, either. It was like the fire was inside him, instead of out, and it didn’t take Liam all that long to realize exactly what started that fire, because it was sitting across from him, eating mashed potatoes.

He was in love with Zayn. He was so, completely, desperately in love with him. It wasn’t some stupid crush or infatuation that would go away with time. It wasn’t simple and easy to move on from. It wasn’t something that could just be turned into friendship over time. A fire that hot wouldn’t be extinguished, but burned on until everything was destroyed.

That’s how he felt, right at that moment. Completely destroyed, and no one could even see it.

“You okay?” Liam’s mum asked suddenly.

He looked up at her and blinked. “I’m fine,” he said quickly. He even sounded it, too.

When everyone was finished eating, Zayn offered to help clean up, but Liam’s mum waved him off. “Let’s go upstairs,” Liam suggested.

Zayn looked to Liam’s mum. “Is that okay?”

Liam wondered how he could keep falling when it felt like he’d already hit the ground.

“Go on up,” his mum said, and they did.

Zayn had been in his bedroom before, but he’d been drunk out of his mind at the time, and Liam wondered what Zayn thought of him, from looking at it. Liam had only seen Zayn’s room once, and that was sparingly, while he’d had a bit to drink and his head had been swimming.

“Do you think they hated me?” Zayn asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

Liam honestly gaped at him. “Why would they?”

Zayn shrugged. “Parents don’t exactly like me hanging out with their kids, most of the time.”

Liam put a hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “You were brilliant,” Liam assured him. “I think my mum’s as in love with you as I am.”

Zayn tensed under his touch, and Liam realized what had come out of his mouth. “What?”

Liam shook his head. “I just meant that-- friends. As friends. Yeah?”

Zayn shook his head, but Liam’s hand stayed on his shoulder. “You can’t-- you can’t just say shit like that.”

Liam finally let his hand drop, but couldn’t resist sliding it down Zayn’s arm -bare, mostly, since he’d taken his jacket off- before letting it drop back to his side. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Zayn snapped. “I want you to--,”

Liam kissed him then. He figured it was now or never. He wasn’t going to work up the courage to do it again, he knew. And Zayn-- Zayn kissed him back, much rougher than Liam has kissed him. His fingers curled into Liam’s hair, tugging almost painfully hard as his tongue pushed insistently against Liam’s lips until they parted.

Liam’s back hit the door and it made a loud banging sound. Liam hoped it wasn’t loud enough to be heard downstairs, but he honestly didn’t really care. His hands were on Zayn’s hips, and then his back, and then sliding up to his shoulder blades, under his shirt. They were sharp and smooth and Liam’s dug his fingers in without thinking.

Whatever fire Zayn had lit inside of him didn’t die down under his touch, but flared up even worse, almost too much and yet Liam couldn’t push him away.

Not that he had to, because Zayn pulled back, eyes wide. His lips were red and slick, and Liam wanted them back against his own, or his neck, or anywhere, really, as long as they were still touching him.

“Stop,” Zayn said, taking another step back. “You have a girlfriend, Liam.”

Liam blinked. He did, and he never thought before that he’d be that guy, the one that cheated, because he tried his best to not hurt people ever. And he’d done it anyways. Had kissed Zayn, had wanted Zayn, even when he was with her. He didn’t mean to, but there it was.

“I know,” Liam said slowly, running a hand through his hair in a way that was vastly different to the way Zayn had been, only moments ago. “And I--,”

Zayn shook his head. “I can’t do this.”

Liam felt frustrated. How was it that the only thing he wanted was literally feet from him, and he still couldn’t have it? “We weren’t working out,” Liam said quietly. “Me and her. I-- I tried, but it didn’t--,”

“I’m not going to give you an ultimatum, Liam,” Zayn said roughly. “I’m not going to tell you to break up with her so we can be together.”

“But I _want_ you to,” Liam snapped. “Don’t you get that? I _want_ you to give me a reason. I’ve been waiting for you to give me a reason, or some kind of indication that I wasn’t alone in this. But you never did! Not once, and then tonight you just-- you were perfect, and I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t just-- just pretend that I haven’t been wanting you this whole time.”

Zayn’s eyes were narrowed, and Liam couldn’t figure out what Zayn wanted him to say. He’d kissed Liam back, for God’s sake. And yet he looked furious at Liam for saying anything about it.

“So you say that you felt this way the whole time,” Zayn concluded, “but you decided to just date someone else.”

Liam sighed. “I thought-- I thought that I had a crush on you. You were the first person I was ever-- well, I can’t say in a relationship with, because that’s not what we were, was it? -- involved with in any way, really. And I figured that _that_ was why I couldn’t get you out of my head. Because I’d never had anything else, and I’d clung to whatever the hell it was that happened between us.

And then I started to get that you weren’t really into me. That you wanted to be friends, and I thought I was fine with that. Harry and Niall introduced me to Danielle, and I thought she was great. She _is_ great. And we hit it off, we really did. But it wasn’t-- no matter how great she was, she couldn’t ever drown you out of my mind. And then I think I realized that-- that it’s because I’m in love with you. And that’s why it just wouldn’t go away. It isn’t some stupid crush, it’s way more than that.”

Liam was breathing heavy when he stopped talking, and Zayn was just looking at him blankly, nothing showing in his eyes. That hurt. It hurt a lot, and Liam didn’t know what the hell he could do to fix it, because he couldn’t take the words back once they were out there, and he really didn’t want to.

Finally Zayn reacted. He shook his head again. “You don’t know what you want, Liam,” Zayn told him. “You think you want me, but you really don’t. You want someone who’s going to hold your hand. Who’s going to kiss you goodnight and say I love you, and impress your parents and text you back right away. And I’m not that person.”

“I’m not asking you to be.”

“No, but you are,” Zayn told him firmly. “You just don’t realize it. You’re asking it with your eyes, and the way you touch me, like I’m something you _should_ want, like I’m someone that deserves to be looked at like that. And I’m not. You just don’t get that.”

“I get enough,” Liam said angrily. “And maybe I don’t care about the other things, and--,”

Zayn patted his shoulder, and he was smiling, like Liam was a child that needed to be taught. “You want to see the good in people, so you convince yourself that you do. But the thing is, Liam, people aren’t always good. And I’m not going to sit here and let you romanticize me, watch you sugar coat all the shit things I do because you can’t handle the fact that I’m not the person you want me to be.”

Liam took a step towards him, but Zayn just ducked past him, heading towards the door. “When you get over this whole thing where you’ve convinced yourself you’re in love with me, let me know and we’ll be friends, yeah?”

He shut Liam’s door behind himself, and Liam let him go until he remembered that he’d driven Zayn here, and that he couldn’t just let him walk home. When he got outside, though, Zayn was already gone. He couldn’t see him down either sides of the street.

Liam went back into the house, only to find his dad waiting for him in the hallway. “Liam,” he said slowly, and Liam could just tell that he was about to get lectured on _something_. He just didn’t know what, and he didn’t want to deal with it. “I know we’ve been lenient on who you’re friends with in the past, and you know that we’d never tell you that you weren’t allowed to hang out with someone--,”

“Don’t,” Liam begged. “Just don’t.”

“It’s just that,” his dad barrelled on, “we want you to have friends that are driven, Liam. Who want the same things that you want.”

“How do you even know what I want?” Liam asked him. “Why the fuck does everyone think they know what’s in my own head better than I do?”

His dad gaped at him but Liam ignored it went up to his room. He couldn’t be in there, though. He needed to-- he needed to shower, he decided. Hopefully the warm water would relax him enough that he could go to sleep afterwards.

He grabbed a towel and locked the bathroom door behind himself. He stared in the mirror for a few minutes, thinking.

Everyone treated him like a child. Like someone who wasn’t old enough, smart enough, mature enough. He needed to be sheltered, taken care of, protected. Like he needed people to tell him what to do, how to think.

_Keep in shape, Liam. Keep your grades up, Liam, you want this scholarship. Don’t screw around with Zayn. Be friends with people more like you. You don’t love me, because you don’t know me._

The hair was different, he noted as he looked in the mirror. He’d grown into his nose, too. But he was still that kid with the buzz cut and the mum who made his lunch, who didn’t fit in with the other kids. Who was treated differently, because everyone seen him differently. And he was fucking sick of it.

Liam knelt down on the floor and opened the cupboard under the sink, finding the electric razor easily. He straightened up, plugged it into the socket, and without another thought, his hair started falling into the sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it help if I promise that Zayn gets his shit together next chapter????? ( I feel like i've drawn out the angst incredibly and I'm sorry but i PROMISE HAPPY ENDINGS FOR EVERYONE?)


	10. Chapter 10

**Niall**

He went to stay with his mum for the weekend. He asked Harry about it first, not because he needed his permission, but because he wanted his honest opinion. And Harry was honest, sometimes a bit too honest, but whatever. Niall loved the bastard anyways.

Harry had told him to go for it, if he honestly believed it was for the best. The thing was, Niall wasn’t sure. Except he knew that, in five months time, he’d most likely be leaving for Uni, and if he ever really wanted to patch things up it had to be done then.

At first, it was awkward. He didn’t feel at home anymore, even though it had only been a couple months since the room at the top of the stairs had been his bedroom. Since the far left end of the couch had been his spot. Since the doorknob to the front closet had been the place where he’d hang up his bag after school.

Also at first, he kind of expected his dad to walk through the front door. He’d sat perched and tense on the edge of the couch, waiting for the blows that could come any moment. Except he didn’t ever show up, and Niall wouldn’t have stayed long enough for them to come anyways.

He relaxed back into his old spot, and his mum made them drinks and sandwiches, and they talked a bit. Talked about school, and how Niall had applied for a scholarship late in November for the school a few hours from their city. Durnham wasn’t the greatest school in the world, but it was easier to get a scholarship to, and they offered the business class Niall wanted to take. And, on top of that -- he’d already looked into it-- there were tons of places near enough to the school that Niall could easily get a job at. His boss, Harvey, had already promised him the greatest recommendation. Now, all he needed was to get the scholarship. He wouldn’t find out until a few days before graduation whether or not he actually did.

His mum cooked them a small dinner of pork chops and mashed potatoes, and they ate curled up on the couch, television playing loudly in the background. And it was just… kind of nice, if not a bit uncomfortable.

It felt like visiting an aunt, though, or a grandparent. He felt welcome and able to help himself to anything in the house, and yet at the same time it wasn’t _his_. It was weird, and he kept waiting for it to go away, but it didn’t. And at the end of the weekend, when he went back to Harry’s -- greeted with a hug from Anne-- and got back to his room there, he finally felt at home again.

“You’re back,” Harry said, leaning against the doorframe to Niall’s room.

Niall looked up at him. “Yeah, just got in a few minutes ago.”

“And?” Harry questioned. “How’d it go?”

Niall shrugged. “It was fine. A bit weird though, you know? I mean, it just-- it didn’t feel like home anymore?”

Harry smiled at him and moved into the room to wrap Niall in a too tight hug. “That’s ‘cause your home’s here now. We’ve kidnapped you, and I don’t plan on letting you go. Unless you want to, that is.”

“I don’t want to,” Niall said slowly.

“Good,” Harry nodded. “Because Gemma’s going to be home tomorrow.”

Niall looked up sharply. “What?”

Harry smirked. “It was a secret. She’s coming back for spring break.”

“Spring break started three days ago.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, but not for her.”

Niall’s mood got increasingly better. Gemma hadn’t mentioned coming back at all. He’d been talking to her just the other night, and she’d sighed and said she couldn’t make it home.

“Speaking of spring break,” Niall said while unpacking the few pieces of clothing he’d brought with him to his mum’s. “Where’s Liam?”

Harry hesitated. “He’s not answering his phone,” he said slowly. “And he wasn’t at school at all on Thursday or Friday.”

Niall knew this. He’d been privy to Harry’s panicked break down, before Harry had finally given in and called Liam’s house after school. Liam’s mum had answered, said Liam was sick in bed, and that was that. They hadn’t seen him since then, and it’d been almost five days.

“What’re we going to do?” Niall asked, a helpless sinking feeling in his stomach. If he were sick, he’d still answer his phone. Niall felt guilt settle on top of the worried, sinking feeling, because he’d been too caught up in his mum and Gemma and everything else to realize that one of his best mates was obviously in trouble.

“Oh, I already have a plan for that,” Harry said with a wave of his hand. “But I need you to help me with it.”

Niall nodded. “Sure. What do you need?”

“I need you to lie to Louis for me,” Harry stated.

“About what?”

Harry sighed deeply and collapsed on Niall’s bed in a dramatic, long limbed heap. “The thing is, whatever’s wrong with Liam is wrong with Zayn, too. And I haven’t seen Louis in days because Zayn has apparently been camped out in his basement, mooning over Liam. Honestly, the two of them are so helplessly in love with each other--,”

“You think Zayn loves him back?” Niall demanded.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I know he does. Have since his birthday. The prick thinks he’s a hell of a lot better at hiding his emotions than he actually is. Anyways, that’s not the point. The point is, I want to be selfish, while still helping them both out. Whatever Louis and I are doing, it’s new, and I’d like to actually see him, you know? So I need you to call Louis and invite him and Zayn to the beach tomorrow. We’re leaving at about five, you’re taking Gemma’s car, and I’m kidnapping Liam.”

“Why can’t you invite him?” Niall questioned, arching an eyebrow.

“ _Because_ ,” Harry told him. “I can’t lie to him, and he’s going to make absolute sure that Liam isn’t coming.”

“So you want me to do it because you can’t lie to your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Harry said quickly. “But, yeah, pretty much.”

“You’re a freak, you know that?” Niall asked.

Harry lifted his chin defiantly. “You’re dating my sister. You’re not allowed to insult me.”

“Never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” Harry said gleefully. “Ten years from now when you two are married and I’ve lost every job I’ve ever gotten because I have no attention span or ability to commit to one hobby and I need a place to stay, I’m going to beg to crash on your couch and you won’t be able to say no because you married my sister, you prick.”

Niall snorted, but his stomach turned a bit. _Marriage_. Harry talked like they were already pretty much engaged. And it made Niall want to throw up a bit, because he realized that dating Gemma wasn’t the worst thing he could do, as a friend. Breaking up with her was. And it wasn’t that he planned to, he really didn’t -- she was great, perfect, lovely-- but you never knew how things were going to turn out, in the future.

“So you’ll lie to him for me, then?” Harry asked while sitting up and stretching.

“Huh?” Niall frowned. “Oh, yeah, sure. I don’t have issues lying to Louis.”

“Good.” Harry slapped him lightly on the back. “Oh, and before you leave remind Gemma to pack the tent from the basement.”

Niall didn’t get a chance to ask why the hell they would need tents if they were going to the beach, but Harry was already out the door and heading to his own room. Not a minute later Niall could hear Hoobastank’s _The Reason_ filtering through the wall.

Niall slept better that night, back in his regular bed, than he had at his mum’s. He woke up to someone pulling back his blanket, though, and Niall groaned, eyes still closed, trying to pull it back. “Fuck off, Harry,” he muttered sleepily. “Swear to god I’ll strangle ya--,”

“I’m not going to lie,” said a feminine voice. “It makes me a bit uncomfortable when you call me my brother’s name.”

Niall’s eyes flew open, and then Gemma was straddling him, pushing her hair back off her face so that, when she leaned down, it didn’t fall between them.

“What are you doing?” Niall asked. He was whispering, but he couldn’t help it. Anne was sleeping just down the hall -- and Niall _knew_ she was still sleeping because the clock on his bed side table said I was extremely early in the morning-- and they couldn’t afford to get caught.

“First off, I wanted to surprise you,” she said, frowning as she pulled back a bit. “But I see my prick of a brother told you I was coming, because you don’t seem all that surprised. And second, I wanted to give us a bit of time alone before everyone woke up.”

“Alone time,” Niall repeated, putting his hands on her waist. He easily lifted her off him and put her down beside him, so that they were laying face to face. His hand slowly slid over his stomach, under her shirt, and she shivered. “To do what?”

Gemma laughed but he didn’t miss the way her cheeks coloured a bit. “To talk.”

“Talk,” he repeated slowly, both from the tiredness and because Gemma’s skin was so soft under his touch. “’bout what?”

Gemma bit her lip. “Promise not to freak out or call me a crazy stalker? Because I actually decided this before I even met you, but then I didn’t know how to mention it after you called me a few months ago when you’d put in your applications, and I realized that telling you after that would make me sound creepy, so I thought it was best to do it in person, and --,”

“Gem,” Niall pushed a few strands of her hair off her face. “Calm down. I already think you’re weird, so I really don’t see what the issue is.”

She pushed his shoulder and then closed her eyes. “I got accepted to an internship in Dunwall last summer, but the internship didn’t start until this summer coming up, and--,” she sucked in a breath, “I transferred all my classes to Durnham in September.”  
  
Niall blinked at her as the words settled in, his hand on her stomach freezing. “So you’re going to be attending Durnham?” She nodded. “The only school I really applied to.” Another nod. “The one I’ll be going to if I get accepted.” More nodding, and she looked exceptionally distraught now, like she expected him to yell at her. Niall did the only thing he could think of to call her down; he kissed her, quick, at first, and then slower, deeper.

“You don’t think I’m stalking you? Because, like I said, I planned to do this--,”

“Even if you were, I wouldn’t mind,” Niall promised. “In fact, I think it’s brilliant.”

“Really?”

Niall kissed her again, just so she knew he was serious. Gemma made a soft sound that made him pull her closer, and then her hands were sliding over his ribs on top of his t-shirt, before her fingers hooked under the elastic of his sweatpants. Niall groaned as her hands pushed inside the material, still no skin on skin contact because of his boxers. That didn’t really matter all that much, though, because her fingers ghosted over the length of him.

Niall looked up at her with wide eyes. “Are you sure--,” she nodded quickly. Niall pushed her shirt up, revealing a simple plum coloured bra that made her skin look paler than it actually was. And then the door down the hall opened. “Every time,” Niall muttered, squeezing his eyes closed.

Gemma was much less calm than he was. She squeaked and rolled right off the bed, and then her head popped up, a panicked look on her face, as the footsteps stopped right in front of his door.

“You okay in there?” Anne asked, concern in her voice.

“I’m okay,” Niall said quickly, hoping she didn’t notice how breathless he sounded.

“Okay,” Anne said before continuing on down the hall.

Gemma stood up quickly, straightening her shirt She leaned over to kiss him quickly on the lips. “I’ll tell her I was in the bathroom,” she explained. “And then-- before I go back. We should tell her. Is that okay?”

Niall nodded. He felt more than a little bad for lying to-- or, more accurately, keeping something from-- Anne, who’d opened her door and her arms wide for Niall. Plus, he didn’t want to hide his relationship with a girl that he was quickly falling in love with.

At breakfast Gemma hooked her leg around his ankle and Harry pointedly refrained from looking at the two of them while they ate. At about ten, Harry left for Liam’s (“Gotta get there early to convince him to come,” Harry had explained.) after scribbling down directions for Niall to get to the beach.

Anne had left before that to go to work, and Gemma had texted her with the details of where the three of them were going, with who, and when they’d be back-- which was apparently the next day. Harry hadn’t mentioned that it was an over night trip, but now that he thought about it, he realized that it was kind of implied.

It had been painfully easy to convince Louis to bring Zayn with him. Louis had sighed gratefully, muttering a, “Thank God, I need an excuse to get him to shower. He smells, Niall. _Smells_.” Niall only had to reassure him three times that Liam wasn’t coming, and Louis was on board.

It wasn’t until he and Gemma set out later that afternoon --tent, pillows, blankets and a bag of marshmallows in the back of Gemma’s car-- that Niall realized something. “We’re going to be spending the night together.”

Gemma raised her eyebrows. “Yes, we are.”

“In a tent.”

“Mhm.”

“Without someone barging in on us or interrupting.”

Gemma smirked. “You’re very observing. Good for you.”

Niall was going to give Harry the biggest hug ever. Actually, no, he wasn’t, because then Harry might clue in as to why, and there would go any future plans of he and Gemma being alone, and probably his plans of having kids one day, too, because Harry would likely castrate him.

  
  


* * *

 

**Harry**

The thing is, he’s worried about Liam. And he’s also just a bit ticked off, too. He knew that Liam was going through _something_ , but he wanted to be there to help. And it wasn’t fair that Liam was shutting him out. Making him worry all the time. That he couldn’t even be over the moon about the fact that Louis kissed him and wanted him, because Liam was still his first priority, and always would be.

When Harry stomped towards Liam’s house with purpose and knocked on the door, it was his mum who answered. Her expression softened when she took in Harry. “Just go on up,” she urged. “I can’t get him out of his room.”

Harry nodded and she ruffled his hair as he passed. Liam’s dad didn’t particularly like Harry, he knew, but women naturally loved him. It was a gift.

He rapt his knuckles quickly on Liam’s door and then tried to push it open, knowing full well that Liam wasn’t going to answer. The door didn’t budge, though, because it was locked. Liam never locked his door. In fact, Harry hadn’t even known that there _was_ a lock on it in the first place.

“Li,” Harry said loudly. “Open the fucking door, yeah? Because we both know I’m capable of just climbing the tree by your window and breaking in, and I don’t think your mum would appreciate--,”

“Don’t laugh,” came Liam’s voice from the other side of the door. “Okay?”

Harry frowned but said, “Okay.”

And then the door was opening and Harry just continued to frown, until he realized what Liam thought he was going to laugh at. Harry gaped at him, eyes wide. His hair-- it was gone, except for a very short amount of it clinging close to his scalp. Harry remembered that hair from when Liam was younger, knew that it would be softer than it looked if he ran his hand over it.

“Don’t,” Liam said quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t say it, okay? I know.”

Harry shook his own head, too. “Damn,” he breathed, and Liam just sighed and stepped back into his room. Harry followed. “You look hot as fuck, Liam,” Harry announced. “Like, seriously, if I wasn’t totally in whatever with Louis, I’d want to do you.”

Liam looked up at him sharply. “It’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be,” Harry assured him. “Seriously. I mean, the curls worked for you, they did, but this--,” he waved a hand towards Liam’s head, “it works in a different way.” Liam blushed and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes because, really, he could have a badass haircut but Liam Payne was still Liam Payne. “Anyways, Britney Spears,” Harry said, grinning. “Going to tell me what caused this?”

Liam sunk down on his bed and Harry followed, hand itching to touch Liam’s hair, just because. “I told Zayn I’m in love with him.”

“You what?”

Liam nodded, looking like he wished the world would swallow him up. And then the regretfully depressed look slipped off his face, and he suddenly looked furious. “He told me I didn’t know what I really wanted. That I wasn’t really in love with him.”

Harry snorted. “Bullshit.”

Liam shrugged. “Well, you know, everyone knows me better than I know myself. It’s just-- _fuck_ , you know? It’s one thing for him to tell me he didn’t want me back, I could deal with that. But he didn’t. He just dismissed my feelings completely, said they weren’t real and I--,”

“Need to get out of here,” Harry said suddenly. He felt a slight twinge, knowing he was going against Liam’s back, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t lying when he told Niall he knew Zayn loved Liam back. In fact, Harry was pretty fucking shocked that Liam couldn’t see it for himself. “We’re going to the beach. And camping. With Niall and Gemma.”

That was enough of a shock to distract Liam from his personal crisis. “Niall and Gemma,” he repeated. “And you’re allowing this?’

Harry nodded. The thing was, he wasn’t ever going to be comfortable with it. It was always going to be weird and a bit upsetting, knowing what was and had happened between his best mate and his sister. But he wanted the two of them happy, no matter what, and if that meant he had to deal with them being together, then he wasn’t going to be the thing that kept them apart.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I’m allowing it. So you in?”

Liam hesitantly nodded. “I’m borrowing that stupid orange beanie you have in your trunk, though.”

Harry gave him an offended look. “Why would I let you borrow it after you insult it?”

Liam packed a bit of clothes, his toothbrush and his homework -- which Harry rolled his eyes at, though Liam insisted he bring it, because he had to make sure it was finished-- and the tent that his parents had gotten a few years ago and used only once. They stopped at the grocery store before leaving town, too, to pick up a few thing that they could eat that wouldn’t go bad if they weren’t refrigerated. Harry also picked up way too much beer with his fake I.D. from the place by Liam’s because he was actually legal now, and he didn’t have to drive halfway across town to the place where the guy never looked too closely at the I.D.

It wasn’t until they were on the road, starting the hour and a half long drive it would take to their destination, that Harry noticed just how bad Liam was doing. It was easy to overlook the other problems when the hair was distracting him, but with a closer look he could see the bags under Liam’s eyes, and the way his nails had been chewed too close to the skin, making the area around them look red and painful.

“He did a right number on you, didn’t he?” Harry asked, eyebrows drawn together. Liam shrugged. “What about Danielle?”

Liam snorted. “Broke up with her. Turns out I’m actually, like, _gay_. Not bisexual. Or maybe I’m just Zaynsexual.”

“Zaynsexual,” Harry repeated, unable to stop from chuckling.

Liam glared at him. “Do you think he’s right?” he asked. “That I really don’t feel that way about him?”

Harry stared at the road for a long time. “I don’t know, Liam, you don’t really talk to me about it much. How does he make you feel?”

Liam sighed. “Like I’m on fire. In a good way, most of the time, but then he goes and-- and sometimes it’s not in a good way.”

Harry reached over and squeezed his thigh. “I’m pretty sure Zayn Malik is an idiot, but I could have told you that a long time ago.”

“Weird how I know that, and yet I still feel that way about him anyways.”

Harry took that into consideration, made him remember the way he’d thought about Louis before he’d admitted that he liked him. He’d disliked most things about the other boy, like his stuck up behaviour and his tendency to do whatever anyone handed to him at a party. Louis Tomlinson was an idiot too, but Harry was kind of in love with him anyways.

The car swerved jerkily to the left. Liam’s eyes widened as he turned to Harry, but Harry couldn’t look at him. His cheeks were burning, and his hands were clenching the steering wheel too tightly.

“Harry,” Liam said cautiously. “You alright?”

“No,” Harry admitted, sounding strangled. “I’m in love with him.”

“With who?”

“ _Louis_.”

“Oh.” Liam blinked, looking confused. “Yeah, I knew that for months now. I thought you realized it a while ago, too.”

“I didn’t,” Harry said weakly. “Why didn’t you tell me? Damn it.”

Liam looked like he genuinely didn’t understand what was wrong. He didn’t get it, that Harry had actually done the whole relationship and in love thing before. And that he knew what it felt like to have his heart stomped on and torn to pieces before someone else returned it to his chest because they didn’t want it anymore. This was Liam’s first time in the game, he hadn’t known enough to be careful with himself. Harry knew better. He _knew_ better.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with that,” Liam admitted. “You guys _are_ dating, aren’t you?”

“We’re not dating,” Harry corrected. “And there’s nothing wrong with that except, you know, it scares the fucking shit out of me.”

Silence fell between them after that and Harry turned on the radio. He didn’t want to talk about Louis anymore, and he didn’t want to talk about love, or feelings, or relationships. He just wanted to get to the beach, hopefully find a way to crack Liam and Zayn’s skulls together so that they realized what was right in front of them, and then curl up in front of a fire with Louis.

When he got to the beach, Louis and Zayn were already there. Niall and Gemma were not. The part of the beach they’d went to was a bit secluded. Harry knew of it because his mum had always taken them there when they were younger, because the other stretches of beach were always filled with tourists and garbage. This place was clean and empty.

Harry was careful to park the car so Liam would have to get out first to actually see Louis and Zayn, and then he jumped out of the vehicle before his best friend could throttle him. He unlocked the trunk and grabbed everything out, leaving only one thing (the tent) for Liam to carry.

“Harry!” Louis called loudly, and Harry felt his own grin breaking out on his face to match the one on Louis’. He wondered if it would ever stop taking his breath away, the way that Louis smiled at him. Hopefully not.

Liam’s door slammed closed and he walked around the side of the car to where Harry was standing. Harry froze, waiting for the inevitable fallout.

Even from where he was, far away from Louis, he heard the hiss of, “That lying Irish little shit.”

“Is that Louis?” Liam asked, frowning. And then Liam’s face went white and he was swallowing. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“Li--,”

“Don’t bother,” Liam said, squeezing his eyes closed. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing, Harry, but this isn’t going to help. I don’t think you get how much it hurts just to fucking _look_ at him.”

“It’ll help,” Harry said firmly, because it had to. It _had_ to, because if anyone in the entire world deserved someone who made them happy, that person was Liam. And if Zayn Malik made him happy, and Zayn really did care about Liam right back, then there was no reason that they shouldn’t be together. Not one.

Liam dragged behind a bit on the way to where Louis and Zayn sat on a few large pieces of wood. Louis had a sweater on, and Zayn was wearing his leather jacket, cigarette already dangling from his fingers.

“Hi,” Harry said brightly.

Louis’ eyes narrowed at him. “Can we talk? Alone?”

Harry swallowed and put down the bags he was carrying and shot a glance to Liam. He was pointedly not looking at Zayn, who was pointedly looking at him in return. Well, he didn’t really think that would change whether or not he and Louis were still there, so he nodded.

Louis stomped towards his car, flicking up sand with the heels of his feet. Harry tried to avoid it as best as he could as he followed along behind him. Louis slid into the driver seat and Harry went around to the other side of the car and got in.

The first thing Louis did was slap his shoulder hard enough that he could feel a slight burn from Louis’ fingers. And then Louis was leaning over the space between the seats, kissing him so hard that Harry thought their lips were going to merge together so that they would never be able to separate.

“You’re an idiot,” Louis breathed against Harry’s lips, fingers curling around the front of Harry’s shirt. “And a prick. And just-- _G_ _od_ you have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

Harry tried to pull Louis over so that he was on top of him, but Louis resisted. “I thought it would help,” Harry admitted. “Liam hasn’t left his room in days, Lou, and that’s my best fucking mate. I can’t sit there knowing that he’s heartbroken because _your_ best mate can’t admit how he feels.”

Louis jerked back, a suffering look on his face. “Oh, he can admit it.”

Harry frowned. “But then--,”

“You don’t know Zayn, Harry,” Louis stated. “You don’t know how he thinks, or what he’s been through, and it’s not my place to tell you or anyone else. But I do know Zayn, and I know that he’s not going to let himself have Liam because he doesn’t think he deserves him. And there’s nothing you or I can do to convince him otherwise.”

“Maybe he doesn’t deserve him,” Harry admitted, eyes on his hands, where they were folded together in his lap. “But don’t you think Liam should be the one to decide that?”

“He does,” Louis agreed. “But Zayn won’t see it that way. That boy is so--,” Louis shook his head, mouth falling closed.

He could see his own pain, etched into the planes of Louis’ face. The worry for the friends, the ache that it put on the two of them for having to watch what they were going through. Harry reached up and ran his thumb over the soft hairs of Louis’ eyebrow, and then down over his cheekbone, and then over his lips.

“I love you,” Harry blurted. He hadn’t meant to, really, but there was a reason he’d had Niall lie to Louis. He couldn’t do it, and not telling him felt like a lie, too.

He expected Louis to freak out a bit, or to tell him that it was way to soon to be saying those things, because it was. They weren’t even dating, for fuck sakes. But Louis-- Louis’ whole expression softened, and then he kissed Harry again, softer, his lips light and silky against Harry’s.

“Boyfriend,” Louis murmured against Harry’s lips. “I’ve never had one of those before.”

Harry just grinned and pulled him closer, not ready to let him go anywhere just yet.

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

He couldn’t figure out what the fuck was running through Liam’s mind, and that was probably the worst thing about it. The second Harry had pulled up, Zayn just knew that Liam was there. He didn’t know how, but he _did_ , and it made him want to crawl out of his own skin just to avoid whatever came next. And he didn’t know, at the time, what he thought was going to happen. He thought maybe Liam would yell at him, or even worse, cry, and he just couldn’t deal with that.

He’d prefer one of those to the Liam that he got, though. The second Louis and Harry disappeared -- off to makeout in Louis’ car, no doubt-- Liam started setting up the tent that he and Harry brought. Louis had brought one, too, but neither he nor Zayn had any idea how to set the damn thing up.

Liam shrugged off his sweater under the heat and his arms were as thick as they always were, muscles bulging tight with the effort of what he was doing. It wasn’t exactly that warm at the beach-- too early in the year for swimming, definitely-- but it was nice enough, sun fighting its way through the grey skies above them.

Liam wasn’t even looking at him, hadn’t looked at him. It was like he wasn’t aware of Zayn’s presence at all. Until he finally turned around, face red, eyes narrowed. “You going to offer to help or are you just going to sit there?”

Zayn raised his eyebrows and stubbed out his cigarette -- second one since Liam had got there-- and stood up. “What do you need me to do?”

“A lot of things,” Liam sighed. “But for now can you just hold this while I get the pole into the sand?”

Zayn gabbed the tarp part of the tent while Liam bent down and shoved the poles into the sand. “What did that mean?” Zayn asked, watching the water instead of Liam. “When you said ‘a lot of things’?”

Liam shrugged. “I don’t know what it meant,” he told Zayn. “I don’t know anything, remember? Especially not how I feel.” Liam released the pole and the side of the tent that Liam had managed to get up caved in on itself. “Niall!”

And then Liam was walking away, leaving Zayn and the collapsed tent alone, in the direction of Niall and some girl with brown hair and a pleasant smile.

Maybe he’d hurt Liam, he knew, but it didn’t matter. In the long run, he’d hurt Liam a lot more if Liam really believed he was in love with Zayn. He couldn’t be, though, Zayn knew, because Zayn wasn’t the type of person people actually fell in love with. Sometimes they thought they loved him, because he was attractive and different and he made them feel special for a short period of time, but none of them knew him, really.

“Hey,” Louis said softly, hand grabbing Zayn’s arm. Zayn hadn’t noticed him come back from the car, but there he stood, hair tussled and lips red. “You okay? I didn’t know, I swear.”

Zayn shrugged. “I know you didn’t. And I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine, love,” Louis said solemnly. “You look like someone just dunked you into a bath of ice water.”

Zayn just snorted and sunk back on the log he’d been sitting on before Liam had asked him for help, and pulled out another cigarette. He was going to run out before they headed back tomorrow, and he wondered just how long it would take for that to break him.

The girl Niall brought with him was Harry’s sister, Gemma. She was different from Harry in the fact that she spoke faster, she used a hell of a lot less ‘um’s in her sentences, and she didn’t look at Louis with a sort of confused, blind adoration. But she did look at Niall that way, only she was far more subtle than Harry. And Zayn liked her, actually. Thought she was clever and funny and just the right amount of different that had him relaxing into his seat and feeling more comfortable.

“Football, then?” Louis asked, jumping up. Harry put his can of cola in the sound and got up, too. “Teams of three? I get Harry and Zayn.”

“You any good?” Zayn heard Niall ask Gemma, who just snorted and said, “Have you yet to see something I _can’t_ do?”

“We still haven’t finished setting up the last tent,” Liam put in, but his protest sounded weak.  
  
Zayn really, really didn’t want to play. He hated sports. Hated any physical activity, except sex. Louis was always a force to be reckoned with, though, and the second he noticed the hesitancy on Zayn’s face he zeroed in on it like a missile.

“Oh no,” Louis pointed at him. “Zayn’s going to back out. No way, Zayn. I swear Malik if you don’t get up I’ll tell everyone about--,”

Zayn jumped up, because who knew what the hell that statement was going to end with. It could be any numerous embarrassing things just from the last week alone. Like “-- the abstract painting of Liam in your room.” or “-- the fact that you wore his stupid jersey for _four days straight_.” or “-- that you said you wished you could write poetry because hands like that deserve to have sonnets written after them.”

“That’s what I thought,” Louis said maliciously. “Right, we need goals. Harry, move those two pieces of wood, Liam, take those empty cola cans down a bit, yeah?”

The two of them did as they were told because this was Louis and not many people really had the will power to say no to Louis. “You’re in goal,” Louis told him. “Okay?”

Zayn shrugged. “Whatever.”

Louis hesitated, eyebrows drawing together. Zayn was more than used to seeing that look in the past week, though. He knew he was putting too much shit on Louis, but he couldn’t help it. Not when he’d fall asleep and then jerk awake at night to find that he couldn’t fill his lungs with air. Not when the words that he’d said to Liam physically pained him. Not when the words Liam had said to _him_ physically hurt, too, because he really hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t seen it coming, and so he didn’t have time to stop it before it had. Didn’t have time to spare Liam the heartache that Zayn inevitably caused him without meaning to.

“Breathe,” Louis ordered, and Zayn dimly realized he was being hugged. “Damn it. I need you to deal with this, okay? I mean _really_ deal with it. Fuck.”

“Okay,” Zayn agreed, but he didn’t really know how.

“Okay,” Louis repeated. “Now get in goal because I’ve got so much dirt on you, you really don’t want to try me.”

Zayn snorted. “What about the dirt I have on you?”

Louis raised his chin in the air. “You have nothing. You’re bluffing.”

Zayn leaned in close and whispered, “I’ve still got the link to that Youtube video.”

Louis blanched and jogged off to his car to get the football before Zayn could threaten his way out of the game.

It wasn’t that bad. The sun was a little hot, burning through the material of the sweater he’d pulled on when he left the house. He wasn’t running around, though, unlike Louis, who was always competitive when it came to football, or Liam, who apparently put his all into _everything_.

Niall, Gemma, and Liam were losing badly. Louis and Harry worked well together, stopping the ball from coming near him nearly every time, unless Liam played some quick trick and managed to come charging in Zayn’s direction. Zayn had managed to save each of the goals, though, because while he hated sports, he’d played this particular one more times than he could count, thanks to Louis.

And then Liam stripped off his shirt and his team scored their first goal.

“Put that thing back on!” Louis ordered, pointing an accusing finger at Liam. “You’re distracting my goalie!”

Liam frowned at him before turning to look at Zayn. Zayn held his gaze steadily, and then Liam’s lips quirked up a bit. Zayn could just imagine what he was thinking. He probably thought it was fair, really, for the times Zayn had distracted him at his rugby games.

Zayn watched as the game started up again. Liam held back, closer to his own goal, giving Louis and Harry the chance to rush their side. And then Liam bolted towards them out of nowhere, effectively stealing the ball from Louis and running straight for Zayn. Louis and Harry had made the mistake of keeping their own side completely unprotected, and Liam just kept coming.

He had on some stupid orange hat and Zayn really wanted to take it off. He also wanted to scratch his nails down Liam’s flushed chest, or kiss the lip he had trapped between his teeth. He wanted to pin Liam down and touch him everywhere, really.

And the closer Liam got, the harder Zayn found it to breathe again. He wanted to pull off his own shirt, just to get the pressure on his chest to _stop_. And then, suddenly, the not real pressure on his chest became real as Liam knocked into him, sending them both sprawling to the ground. Liam was a solid weight on top of him, heavy and hard and perfect, and Zayn needed to _breathe_.

So he did the only thing he could; he put his hands on Liam’s hips and flipped them. Zayn looked down at the boy underneath him, at the way his chest heaved. There was a defiantly angry look in his eyes, but also a lingering trace of hurt.

“I love you,” Zayn told him breathlessly. He stared down at Liam, knowing that there was a confused look on his face, because he had no idea how the hell they’d gotten to this point, but now that they had he was happy that they did. “Fuck, I love you. I love you. I --,”

Liam pushed Zayn off him and Zayn fell back, palms hitting the scratchy sand roughly. Liam scrambled off the ground, the football forgotten. He looked back at Zayn only once and then he was jogging towards the tents and ducking inside them.

“What the hell just happened?” Harry demanded, eying Zayn like he thought it was all his fault.

And it probably was, but Zayn couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry for that because he found he could finally breathe again.

 

* * *

 

**Louis**

Louis had a big heart, when it came to people he cared about. And Zayn? He cared about Zayn more than almost anyone else. Weirdly enough, he’d gotten mildly attached to Harry and his band of misfits, too. Probably because they were all misfits, really.

He was still Louis Tomlinson, though, and he had a selfish streak inside of him. One that had leaning into Harry’s side in front of the fire instead of checking on Zayn. Not that Zayn didn’t seem okay now, actually. He didn’t look as pinched around the edges as he had for the last… so long, really, that Louis couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked this okay with himself. Maybe he wasn’t happy, but he was… better. And Liam was still resolutely inside the tent.

“This is good, yeah?” Harry asked, leaning close to him. Gemma and Niall sat opposite them and Louis could barely see them through the fire. Zayn was on his left, but he was busy roasting a marshmallow over the flame. He caught the way Harry’s eyes darted to the tent where Liam was, a worried look on his face.

“It is,” Louis assured him. “And they’ll be fine. We can’t always help them, you know.”

Harry sighed and nuzzled closer, his head tucking into Louis’ neck. His curls tickled the skin there and Louis let out an involuntary shiver of pleasure. The thing was, he might have had a big freak out over his sexuality, which he _still_ wasn’t 100% on, but he didn’t at all doubt this-- thing with Harry. This relationship. As weird as that was, because it should have been weird, right? It should have freaked him out, the way his body reacted to Harry’s touch, or his lips, or even just the way he looked sometimes. But it wasn’t. It was just-- right.

“We’re sharing a tent, right?” Harry asked, lips against Louis’ neck.

Louis tangled his hands in Harry’s hair and cut his eyes to Zayn, who had suddenly jerked back to reality. “I’ll sleep in your car,” Zayn supplied, eyes, just like Harry’s had moments ago, darting to Liam’s tent. It was left unsaid that Gemma and Niall would share the last one, the one that he and Harry and Niall had struggled to put up until Gemma came over and sighed at them and then told them how to do it properly.

Louis liked Gemma loads. She reminded him of Harry, sometimes, in the way they flicked their hair too much, or rolled their eyes.

“Want to head to bed, then?” Harry asked, pulling back.

Louis frowned at him. “It’s only, like, nine, and we still have half a case of beer left--,” Harry raised his eyebrows suggestively, and Louis got that Harry didn’t have any plans to sleep. “Oh.”

He couldn’t help it, the way his heart beat a bit faster, and his palms sweat. They hadn’t done anything, really, more than a few heavy makeout sessions. But they’d be sleeping beside each other, and--,

“We don’t have to do anything,” Harry assured him. “Okay?”

Louis stood up, brushing sand off his arse. “Really? That’s disappointing.”

Harry smirked at him and got up, too. “Put that fire out before you three sleep, right?”

“I got it,” Zayn assured them. “Just go and-- be smart, yeah?”

“Yes, father,” Louis rolled his eyes and ruffled Zayn’s hair, which only resulted in Zayn slapping his hand, hard. “Prick.”

Harry unzippped the tent -- such a gentleman-- and waited for Louis to get in. He’d already spread out blankets and pillows for them and he had his phone out, using it as a flashlight.

“Harry,” Louis whispered before Harry could shut the tent, “Grab the marshmallows before Niall eats them all.” He didn’t know why he was whispering, exactly, but it felt right.

Harry obviously felt the same way because he whispered right back, “Stay here.”

Louis did as he was told, sinking onto the pile of blankets. He fidgeted in his spot, though, feeling too hot. He needed to do something, but the only something he could think of was to take off his clothes. His fingers pulled on the hem of his own shirt, but he hesitated. He was bold, damn it. He could take his shirt off while waiting for his _boyfriend_ to return to their makeshift bed. He could.

He did. And then he felt way too cold, and he climbed under the blankets after kicking his shoes off near the opening of the tent, careful not to get sand in their bed.

“Lou,” Harry said softly, pointing his phone/light in the tent. “I don’t want to step on you.”

Louis snorted. “Just avoid stepping near my voice.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Harry pointed out as he stumbled into the tent. He was too ridiculously tall for the tent, Louis thought.

The light from the phone disappeared and Louis could hear the tent being closed again. He could also hear the other’s outside.

“I’m going for a walk,” Zayn said, and then Niall and Gemma made sounds of acknowledgement.

Harry was riffling through his bag while sitting near Louis’ feet when Niall sighed. “Do you realize,” he said to Gemma, “that I have only four friends. And they’re all either hooking up with each other or dating each other. All of them. How does that even happen? _Why_?”

Harry started chortling, and then Louis couldn’t help it; he burst into loud laughter.

“’s not funny!” Niall shouted at them. “Wankers.”

“I think you’ve had enough beer,” they heard Gemma tell him.

“Not enough,” Niall grumbled. “The all want The D.”

“The _what_?”

“The-- the, _you know_.”

“You mean they’re all into other guys.”

“All of them. Do I attract gay people? Are you gay?”

“Niall,” Gemma snorted, “I really don’t think you need to ask _me_ that question.”

“Right.”

And that was it for Harry and Louis. They both collapsed back down against the ground, laughing so hard it hurt. It was dark, no light coming from Harry’s phone now. Harry’s arm knocked into Louis’ rib, and Louis accidentally kicked Harry in the shins, and that only made them laugh harder.

“He’s right though,” Louis said suddenly. “I mean, honestly, what are the chances?”

“That’s fate for you,” Harry said quietly, laughter gone from his voice. Louis felt him shift so that the were laying facing each other. “Maybe we were all meant to find each other, you know? I mean, maybe this is _it_ , and Liam and Zayn were supposed to go through all this, to really fall in love with each other. And you were supposed to be sassy to me and I was supposed to be a pretentious dick, and then we were supposed to--,”

“Shut up, Haz,” Louis told him, fingers ghosting over Harry’s cheeks. “Honestly.”

Harry smiled and Louis felt it under his fingers tips. “Want to listen to my iPod?”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed, and Harry went back down to his bag. Louis couldn’t really tell what he was doing, but a few moments later Harry was laying beside him again and handing him a headphone, while the screen of his iPod flared up. “You know,” Louis started, putting the earphone in. “I need you to make me a new CD. I’ve listened to the other one so many times Zayn’s threatening to break it if I do so again.”

He could see Harry’s grin this time. “You liked it that much?”

Louis shrugged. “You know me well. It’s creepy. I’m thinking of getting a restraining order.”

Harry playfully knocked his shoulder into Louis’, but then his fingers hesitated over the buttons on the iPod. “Can I be creepier for a moment? I mean, promise not to, like, run away?”

Louis looked at him, frowning. “If you have hundreds of pictures of me taken from my window, Harry--,”

“It’s not that,” Harry laughed. “It’s just-- okay, don’t laugh, right? But I kind of have this thing where sometimes I try to make a soundtrack to my life. And like-- if something important or meaningful happens, later on I’ll try to think of what song would be playing in the background at that exact moment.”

Louis blinked at him. “That’s not weird,” he said, because it wasn’t. It was very… Harry. And Louis liked it.

“That’s not the weird part,” Harry admitted, and he moved so that their sides were pressed together and the iPod was between them. Louis watched as Harry brought up the playlist folder, and then he was scrolling through playlist after playlist.

“You have five break-up playlists,” Louis commented, wondering why none of Harry’s things surprised him anymore. “Have you had that many meaningful break-ups?”

“They’re not for a different break-up,” Harry protested. “They’re for _all_ break-ups. I mean, I’ve got one for every stage. The initial shock of a break-up, and then the sadness, and then the anger, and then the regretful part and then the final one is for moving on.”

Louis blinked at him. “Okay, that’s a little obsessive.”

Harry shook his head and continued to scroll through the lists, until he got to the ‘L’s. Louis felt his breath catch in his throat when he noticed the playlist titled with his own name, and then Harry was clicking it. There were, according to the device, 129 songs in the playlist.

“Can we listen to it?” Louis asked, and he felt stupid, suddenly, for even talking, because it felt like the tent was so quiet all of a sudden, and he was ruining something by making a sound.

Harry just nodded and pressed play, the songs shuffling at random until the first one started.

“Tell me what they’re for, yeah?” Louis found himself asking.

“Okay,” Harry agreed as the song started to play. “This one’s _Trip on Love_ , Abra Moore. From when we watched _Cruel Intentions_. I thought it fit and, you know, it's on the soundtrack, so....”

Louis was quiet as the music played, just listening, trying to see what stood out enough to Harry to make it matter. And then the lyrics, “ _And you asked me, ‘Do you feel lonely in that way?’_ ” and Louis remembered when Harry had looked at him in the pool and asked him if he was lonely.

The next song that played Louis recognized even before Harry rattled off the name. “ _Here Without You_ , 3 Doors Down. When I was sleeping on the floor of the hotel room.”

It continued on like that for a long time, Harry listening off songs names and why they were on the list.

“ _Walls_ , All Time Low. Again, New Years, after we kissed and you just closed off.”

“ _Love Letters_ , Paper Route. Zayn’s birthday party.”

“ _The Way I feel_ , The Lemon Trees -- yes, that is the actual name. Your birthday, when I gave you the CD.”

“This is extremely cheesy, you realize that, right?” Louis asked finally.

Harry hit pause on the music. “In a good way, or a bad way?”

“I don’t know,” Louis said slowly. “I’m starting to think that you’re going to make us celebrate monthaversaries or something, and I don’t know how comfortable I am with that. I wouldn’t have even remembered mine and El’s anniversary if it weren’t for Facebook.”

Harry chuckled and pulled out his own headphone before tugging on the cord so Louis’ came free, too, and then he wrapped it around the iPod and stashed it somewhere. “I don’t want to be cheesy like that. I just-- I catalogue my life in music, you know? What song’s playing at the time, what song _should_ have been playing at the time. What songs remind me of certain things, or people.”

“So you’ve got all those,” Louis said, grinning at what he could make out of Harry’s face from the light of the fire outside filtering through the thin material of the tent. “But do we have like, _a_   song?”

Harry nodded and put a hand on Louis’ waist. “We have two.”

“Two.’

“Mhm,” Harry’s thumb circled his hip. “Remember that one I put on your CD for the play? The only one with lyrics?”

Louis nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense,” he admitted, because he’d listened to that song hundreds of times -- pathetically-- and he couldn’t deny that he thought of Harry _every single time_.

“And then the one from the CD you bought in London, The Fray one.”

“ _Look After You._ ”

“Yeah, the one that you uploaded that video of you singing to and, while the quality of the mp3 was shit -- seriously, Lou, couldn’t you afford something better to record it with? Did you use a pototoe?-- It was good. You should sing for me sometime.”

Louis went cold. “You did not.”

Harry pulled him closer. “But I did.”

Louis slapped his shoulder, but lightly. “I told you not to!” he said loudly, embarrassed.

“Do you want to yell at me for something that’s already done, or do you want to kiss me?”

Louis glared at him. “Both.”

Harry leaned forward. “Good luck with that,” he said, as his lips brushed too softly against Louis’. And then he repeated the move with a bit more pressure. Once, twice, three times, until Louis made a frustrated sound and pulled him closer.

He tasted like the perfect mix of sour beer and sweet marshmallows, and Louis licked into his mouth as his hands found the bottom of Harry’s shirt. “Off,” he ordered, tugging at it. Harry chuckled but obliged, and then Louis sighed against the feel of their unclothed skin pressing together in so many places. “More?” Louis questioned, eyes wide.

Harry’s fingers fell to the buttons of Louis’ jeans, but he didn’t do anything. “More what?”

“More off,” Louis groaned, reaching down to replace Harry’s fingers with his own. Suddenly, he needed his jeans off, like, yesterday. And Harry’s, too, he thought after kicking his own off, fingers already scrambling greedily for the material of Harry’s pants.

“Jesus, Lou,” Harry breathed, head falling back against the pillow as his hips lifted up so Louis could affectively remove his jeans.

Louis didn’t want to talk though. Or take it slow. He wanted Harry, who was warm and smooth and who had a hidden tattoo under his arm that Louis wanted to rake his tongue over; he did just that, and the sound Harry made was way too much for him.

“Remember,” Louis said, struggling to form coherent thoughts, “when we played Never Have I Ever, and I said I’d never given a blowjob, and you drank?” Louis thought Harry was smirking. “Teach me.”

“Teach you,” Harry repeated. His hands circled Louis’ waist, large enough that Louis figured he could spread out his fingers on both sides and they’d touch. “How?”

Louis shrugged. “Tell me what to do.”

Harry flipped them over. “How about a demonstration instead?”

Louis swallowed. A part of him wished there was more light, so he could really see the way Harry slid down his body, fingers pulling down Louis’ boxers as he did so. There was another part of him that figured it was best this way, that it would be too overwhelming to have to look at Harry and feel what he was doing.

He was cold, at first, as he was exposed with nothing to cover himself. Harry’s hands were warm and huge, though, quickly enveloping the length of him. And then the first contact with his mouth came as he tentatively licked over the sensitive tip. Louis groaned and curled his fingers into the material of the bedding so that he wouldn’t tug on Harry’s hair.

He’d had Harry’s lips on him before, and he could admit that they were sinful, really, _obscene_ , but it was completely different to have them wrapped around him, sinking down farther, until Louis’ hit his throat.

It was hard not to open his mouth and let all the thoughts in his mind tumble out, but his teeth clamped down painfully hard on his lower lip as Harry’s tongue slid along him on the upwards movement and fuck, he wasn’t lying when he said he’d done this before. And later, there would be a part of Louis that would be jealous about that, but right then he couldn’t really think past, “Fuck, God, _Harry_.”

He was pretty sure Harry was smirking again, the little shit.

Louis felt that familiar building tension inside of him, and he couldn’t help but curl the fingers of one hand around Harry’s bicep.

Harry pulled off him then, but his hand kept up where his mouth no longer was, slicked by the spit from his mouth. “Come on,” Harry urged. “Let go, Lou.”

It was embarrassing, really, how quickly it ended after that. He came over Harry’s fingers and let his head fall back against the pillow as he road out the after feelings, where his whole body felt loose and worked and blissfully fucked out. Harry fell back beside him and Louis kissed him.

“Think you got the gist?” Harry questioned, and Louis propped himself up on one arm.

“I think so, yeah,” Louis agreed, kissing his way down Harry’s chest.

 

* * *

 

Liam

He was still awake when someone put out the fire outside. He figured it was Zayn, but he really didn’t want to think of Zayn.

Sure, there was a part of him that felt a twinge of guilt when he listened to Zayn tell Louis’ he’d sleep in the car. Obviously it was the plan for Zayn and Liam to share a tent. Maybe they would have, too, if Zayn hadn’t said what he had.

And where did he get off blurting that out to Liam with such awe and sincerity in his eyes? After what he’d put Liam through, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, and he’d wanted to punch Zayn for it. Liam didn’t like violence, really, but he had. Badly.

None of the tents were too close together, thank god, because he _really_ didn’t want to be privy to what Harry and Louis, or Gemma and Niall were doing. Not that he hadn’t heard Louis’ breathless, loud, “ _God Harry_ ,” but he was trying to forget that because it was too disturbing to dwell on.

He was the only one who’d brought a flashlight, and he was glad, now, that he had, even if Harry had rolled his eyes at him for packing it. He’d spent most of the day in the tent trying to work on his English. The Macbeth essay was due the first day back, and Liam was grateful that it would finally be done. He kind of wanted to burn the thing, to be honest.

He didn’t spend as much time doing actual work as he’d of liked, though, because every time he tried to write something his eyes would dart to the margin where he’d scribbled stupid little details about Zayn. Eventually he’d given that up and went to a fresh page, but then he’d found himself adding other things to that, like, “Smells like smoke and cologne” and “Always tastes sweet” or “Kisses like he wants to hurt you” because they were all true.

Liam tensed and shut the book at the sound of someone walking towards his tent. He knew they weren’t heading for the others because Harry’s tent was more too the left, and Niall’s was on the other side of the fire.

“Liam,” Zayn asked quietly. “I can’t exactly knock because, you know, fabric. But I can see your light on.”

Liam stared at the opening of the tent, eyes narrowed, waiting for him to go. He didn’t.

“Liam, please, can we just--,”

Liam reached forward and tugged on the zipper so hard that it made a loud ripping sound. Thankfully nothing was actually damaged though. Just his pride, really, as usual.

Zayn just blinked down at him blankly for a moment. “Hi,” he said finally.

“Can I help you?” Liam asked.

Zayn might have grinned. Liam wasn’t sure because he’d turned the light back to his notebook and flipped to a random page. “That was the first thing you ever said to me, you know that?”

Liam grunted and scribbled underneath whatever he’d written on that page when Zayn had been reading to him. Zayn came into the tent and toed off his shoes before sitting down right in front of the opening. He left it open, too, and Liam considered snapping at him, because it was cold, but Zayn lit up a cigarette and he realized that’s why it was open.

“Can we talk?” Zayn asked, breathing out smoke as he did so.

Liam didn’t look up. “I don’t really see the point, since every time we do either I end up feeling like shit or being more confused than I was when we started.”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn said slowly. He was staring out the tent door, eyes on the water. “I’m not exactly good at--,” he waved a hand. “This.”

“And what is this, exactly, Zayn?”

“Liking someone,” Zayn admitted. “Caring about someone. Loving someone. I’m kind of shit at it, actually.”

Liam snorted. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Zayn sighed loudly and leaned forward, holding the cigarette away from himself. He tipped onto his knees and stretched out his hand, pulling the book from Liam’s grasp. Liam didn’t have the energy to try and stop him. Or to stop him from grabbing the flashlight, too.

Zayn was quiet as he looked over what Liam had been doing. He flipped through the pages of the book and Liam just sat there, looking down at his hands. “You wrote them all down?” Zayn asked finally. “All of the answers I gave you?”

Liam shrugged. “I thought they were important.”

Zayn nodded and handed the book and flashlight back to Liam. Liam watched as his slender fingers flicked the ash off the cigarette before he leaned out of the tent and flicked it far away. When it was no longer in sight, Zayn zipped the tent door back up.

“Want more?” he asked, shuffling over so that he was sitting cross-legged in front of Liam.

The tent was big, big enough for at least four people, and yet Zayn had to sit so close to him that Liam felt too hot in the sweater he was wearing. That was ridiculous, too, because it was actually cold.

“Want more what?” Liam asked, turning to a fresh piece of paper. He scratched the tip of the pen against the corner hard, over and over, until it ripped.

“I’ll talk and you write, yeah?” Zayn asked, and then he was moving forward again until his knees were pressed against Liam’s.

Liam looked up at him but Zayn was looking down at his lap. The light cast shadows on his face, eyelashes appearing to be impossibly long. It looked like they were brushing against his cheekbones, and Liam wanted to replace the shadows with his fingers, or lips, but he didn’t move.

“Right, um.” Zayn fidgeted and brushed a hand through his hair, screwing up any styling he’d done to it. “When I was ten I broke my arm jumping off a swing set because Louis dared me.”

He was quiet after that, but his eyes lifted to Liam and then looked down at Liam’s paper, waiting for him to write it down. And he did, because he couldn’t see what else he was supposed to do.

“I have three sisters,” he continued, voice softer this time. Liam wrote that down, too. “I’ve seen The Dark Knight Rises six times.”

Liam blinked at him. “I’ve got you beat,” he admitted before he could stop himself. “I’ve seen it eight times.”

Zayn grinned at that and grabbed the pen from Liam’s hand and wrote, underneath where Liam wrote ‘watched DKR 6 times’ and copied down the information Liam had just given him before he handed the pen back.

“I designed four of my tattoos myself,” he confessed. “And I like to paint, sometimes, but I’m not really good at painting _things_. It’s more-- just colours and random brush strokes.”

Liam refrained from asking if he could see one of them sometime, because he knew Zayn enough now to know that he might be close with Liam right now, but he could dart away again at any second. Liam was done putting himself out there, done being vulnerable with Zayn.

“Your jersey doesn’t smell like you anymore, and it bothers me, but I can’t stop wearing it anyways.” Liam’s breath hitched at that but he just wrote it down and waited again. “I’ve known Louis since we were three. Our parents were friends and Louis was the first and only real friend I’ve ever had.”

Liam just continued to write his words down, wondering what the hell Zayn was playing at with this.

“I realized I liked girls and guys when I was thirteen and I started dating this guy, Steve.” Zayn chewed his lip as Liam wrote. “I started selling weed when I was fifteen because I needed the money. I still do. I dropped out of school last year. I’ve always wanted a dog, but my mum was allergic. I hate cereal of any kind. I once smoked a joint made of grass because a few kids convinced me it’d get me high. I had a crush on my fourth year teacher, Mrs. Carmen. I like M&Ms but especially the red ones, even though I know they don’t taste any different. I can’t swim, really. I was attacked by a pigeon when I was younger and now I hate birds. I wanted to corrupt you when I first met you, but then that time when you tried to smoke that joint with me I felt sick watching you do it, because I realized that I liked you too much at that point. I run away from things that mean something because I’m shit at holding onto people and I have a track record of loving people who don’t love me back the way I need them to.”

Liam’s hand was cramping as he tried to write fast enough. When he finished scribbling down the last piece of what Zayn had said, he realized he couldn’t see the words anymore because his vision was blurred by tears.

“Can I tell you something else?” Zayn asked.

“I’m not stopping you,” Liam said, trying to sound cool and indifferent as he had when Zayn had first entered the tent; he failed miserably, he knew.

“No writing it down this time, okay?” Zayn asked him.

Liam nodded and closed the notebook. Zayn grabbed the flashlight and shut it off, plunging them into complete darkness. He felt Zayn’s fingers curl around the back of his neck, fingers skimming over the beanie he was still wearing. Liam wanted to flinch away from the touch, wanted for it to feel wrong and wanted to hate Zayn for even coming close enough to be able to reach him, but he couldn’t do any of those things.

Zayn’s forehead pressed against his in the dark. “My parents always wanted a boy. I wasn’t the last born after the girls, of course -- I’ve only got one older sister-- but I’ve always known that my dad and mum wanted a boy. You know, a real boy, like you. Who played sports and laughed at fart jokes and dated cheerleaders. That kind of shit.” Zayn’s hand found his in the dark and squeezed. “When I was about twelve I think they realized I wasn’t like that. For one, I hate sports. Like, I seriously fucking hate them, Liam, I don’t know how you do it. I liked to read and write and listen to music. I liked to hang out with the kids who were like me, too, the ones who were kind of different. Who didn’t really fit into our neighbourhood. Well, ‘cept for Louis, but he was the exception, because he’s Louis.

“I knew that they didn’t like the way I was. I mean, you’d be blind not to. We fought all the time, my parents and I. It was like-- I couldn’t ever be what they wanted, so I made it a point to be the _exact opposite_ of it. I started smoking, and I started styling my hair different, and wearing skinny jeans and shit because I thought it was cool. And they lost it, like, really lost it, yeah? Threatened to cut off my inheritance. But it wasn’t until they found me in bed with Steve that they _really_ couldn’t handle it, you know?” he could hear the way Zayn’s breathing became wavered. “I mean, I don’t think it’s because they’re complete homophobes. I think they could have handled me being into guys and girls if I was who they wanted me to be, right? Like if I was like you, being bisexual would be okay. But being bisexual on top of the smoking, and the reading, and the friends-- it was just too much.”

Zayn’s forehead was still pressed against Liam’s, and he pushed forward so that their noses were touching, too. “They kicked me out when I was fourteen. Mum told me never to come back. I begged them to let me. I might have-- I might have resented them, a bit, for wanting me to be someone that I just couldn’t, but… they’re my parents. They’re supposed to love me anyways, regardless. And I realized, later, that they really didn’t. They never let me come back. Never let me see my sisters. It was like I was just completely erased from them. I wasn’t worth their love, and they’d taken it back.”

“Zayn.” Liam didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t think of anything that would suffice, because saying he was sorry wasn’t going to make it better. Saying that they were wrong wouldn’t make it better. He couldn’t make it better, and that made him feel helpless.

“It’s just--,” Zayn kept going, as if Liam hadn’t made a sound, “I guess I figured, after crashing on couches or sleeping in the streets, after having to take care of myself, really take care of myself, that it wasn’t worth it anymore. Caring about people. Because people don’t love you forever, not always. And it fucking hurts when they stop. And I kind of became that person that I was only pretending to be. I got caught up in it all, in being shit. Like-- I started fucking around with everyone who wanted me, because I liked the sex, and I liked that it didn’t have to mean anything. And I liked that I could cut into people with a few words and a glare. And that old people would avoid sitting next to me on the bus. It was like an armour that I put on that just melded to my skin after a while.”

Zayn sighed and his breath moved across Liam’s face. He wanted to touch Zayn more than just where Zayn was touching him, but he didn’t feel that he had a right to, at that moment. Zayn was closed off to him, and he didn’t know how he’d react if Liam tried anything.

“And then you come into my life, right? And you’re like-- you’re perfect, Liam. Absolutely fucking perfect. I just wanted to shag you, at first, but then-- but then I didn’t just want that anymore. I didn’t want temporary. I wanted you permanently. I wanted it to _mean_ something. But it couldn’t, because you-- you deserve someone a hell of a lot better than me, and I couldn’t let myself ruin you.”

“What if I want you to?” Liam asked, voice louder than Zayn’s had been in a long time. It seemed to crack through the tent like lightening. “Why don’t I get a choice?”

“I’m giving you one now,” Zayn admitted. “That’s why I’m telling you this. Because I think you deserve to really know me before you decide that you want me.”

Liam moved his hand up Zayn’s arm. “I decided that a long time ago, you know. I was just waiting for you to catch up and realize it.”

Zayn let out a loud breath. “I told you I was shit at this.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam replied. “For a lot. For being pissed at you, and for -- for what your parents did. I just don’t get it, though. How anyone could stop loving you. Trust me, I tried and it’s pretty impossible.”

“Don’t try anymore then,” Zayn told him.

“Okay,” Liam agreed.

And it wasn’t good yet. It wasn’t fine that Zayn had put him through all that, and Liam was going to have issues believing the way Zayn looked at him, or touched him, or what he said for a long time. And Zayn had a lot to make up for. But Liam didn’t really care about that because, like he’d realized all those months ago on the sidewalk by Louis’ house, he was fucked. Completely, utterly fucked where Zayn Malik was concerned, and he was surprisingly okay with that.

“I hate your hat, too,” Zayn added. “You can write that down.”

Liam forgot about the hair, to be honest. He wasn’t sure how Zayn was going to react to it, either, but there wasn’t really any way to hide it forever. Liam turned on the flashlight and then pulled off the hat.

Zayn looked at him for a long time, eyes flicking between Liam’s and his hair. And then he reached up and ran a hand over it before scratching at Liam’s scalp. Liam leaned into the touch, eyes falling closed.

“Fuck,” Zayn breathed after a few moments. “You cut it off.”

“Yeah.”

“You look--,” Liam waited for inevitable insult, whether Zayn would sugar coat it to make it sound less terrible or not. He didn’t expect Zayn’s lips on his, or the way Zayn’s body trapped him between itself an the ground. Or the way Zayn made a helpless, lost sound into his mouth as his fingers slid over Liam’s arms and his scalp and then his cheek and his chest.

“Can we just start over?” Zayn asked breathlessly, pulling back just a bit, his breath still ghosting over Liam's skin. “From before I fucked up and ruined things.”

“No,” Liam said firmly. He barrelled on after the hurt that flashed in Zayn’s eyes. “But we can move on. If you promise not to pull that shit again. Promise to let me make my own decisions.”

“Promise,” Zayn agreed instantly.

Liam smiled against his lips. “Okay. Bed, then?”

Zayn didn’t protest. He just slid off Liam and laid on his back. Liam mimicked the position, tossing everything he’d pulled onto the blankets away. He pulled an extra one over the two of them, and then closed his eyes, just as Zayn’s fingers curled around his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't going to update this today, because it's my birthday and I planned to be busy all day, but that sort of fell through so here you go. A bit later than intended, but hopefully that's okay. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Zayn**

He woke up with Liam beside him, and for a moment he thought he was still asleep. He closed his eyes and willed the dream to stay, willed the even breathing of Liam beside him not to change, and the warmth of his arm around Zayn’s waist not to move.

And then Liam’s arm tightened around him, and he whispered, “You awake?” His voice was rough and low with sleep, and made warmth pool in Zayn’s stomach.

A moment later he realized that, yeah, he actually was awake. And this was real. And Liam was there, touching him, sleeping beside him. Last night had actually happened. He’d actually told Liam things that he’d never even really said to Louis. Sure, Louis _knew_ them, but not because Zayn had ever shared them with him.

Zayn blinked open his eyes to find Liam’s on him, wide and a bit out of focus. He yawned, covering his mouth, and Zayn felt impossibly warm, not just because he figured the sun was beating down on the tent, or because of the blanket as well as Liam’s body heat.

“You’re still here,” Zayn said quietly, reaching up a hand to brush it over Liam’s eyebrows, and then down his cheekbones, over his lips, across the light smattering of stubble on his jaw.

“Of course,” Liam said lightly, frowning at him. “Where else would I be?”

Zayn shrugged because he couldn’t explain to Liam that a small part of him will probably always be convinced that Liam’s not going to be there. Instead, he put a hand on Liam’s hip, slid it up under the shirt a bit, fingers ghosting over his ribs, and said, “Back to bed?”

Liam shook his head. “Can’t,” he admitted. “Once I’m up, I’m up.”

Zayn groaned and pulled him closer. “Come on, Liam.”

Liam sighed and moved closer, tucking his head into the crook of Zayn’s neck. His breath warmed Zayn’s skin, and he couldn’t help but move his hips a little closer, wanting them pressed up against each other in every way possible. He was still trying to figure this out, still trying to wrap his brain around it, but he thought he could breathe much easier if Liam was pressed up against him.

“You make a very compelling argument,” Liam said against his neck when Zayn’s nails scratched over his back.

Zayn sighed contentedly and pulled back a bit, finding Liam’s eyes bright and alert. “You’re not going to fall back asleep, are you?”

Liam shook his head, and his eyes slowly slide down Zayn’s body, half concealed by the blanket. “We don’t have to sleep, though.”

Zayn bit down on his bottom lip. He wanted to. God, he _really_ wanted to pin Liam down and memorize every inch of skin under his fingertips first, and then his tongue. He wanted to hear every gasp and sigh and moan slip between Liam’s lips and tuck them away, keeping them forever. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He had a lot to make up for, and he hadn’t earned that yet. And he didn’t want to give Liam the impression that the only thing Zayn wanted him for was sex.

“Still tired,” Zayn lied.

“Okay,” Liam said, only sounding slightly disappointed. “I’m going to go for a run.”

Zayn let his eyes close and chuckled. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Get used to it,” Liam told him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. Zayn opened his eyes and tried to follow them, but Liam was pushing himself up and straightening his shirt. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Okay,” Zayn agreed reluctantly, watching as Liam pulled on his shoes. “Are you going to be all sweaty?”

Liam frowned and then shot him an apologetic look. “Probably, a bit.”

Zayn grinned. “Brilliant. Come back when you’re done.”

“Promise.”

Zayn waited until the tent was zipped up again to close his eyes. He tried to sleep, he really did, but the tent was too empty and cold without Liam, and he just couldn’t do it.

He could hear another tent opening, and then Louis’ loud yawn. A moment later the sound of someone popping the lid on a can of Coke reached his ears, and he sighed, sitting up. He really, really wanted to go back to sleep. He had a strict rule of not being up before at least ten, unless it was absolutely necessary. And he had a feeling that it was extremely early in the morning.

Liam Payne really was ruining him.

Zayn grabbed his cigarettes and lighter from where he’d left them by the edge of the tent, and slipped on his shoes before grabbing the blanket from the floor. He wrapped it around his shoulders and opened the tent flap, leaving it like that because he couldn’t be bothered to take the effort to close it again.

Louis looked up at him as he approached, a soft smile on his face. Zayn sunk down in the sand next to him and opened his cigarette pack, tugging one of them out. He flicked the lighter, brought the flame to the tip, and inhaled before blowing out the smoke.

“You’re up early,” Louis commented. He sounded tired still, and Zayn wondered why he was even up right now.

“I know,” Zayn admitted, yawning widely. “Liam,” he added as an explanation.

Louis nodded. “I heard you two talking last night. Things are okay there, then?”

In the distance, far down the beach, he could see Liam jogging away from them, nothing but the black of his t-shirt really distinguishable. “Yeah,” Zayn said quietly. “I think things are okay.”

Louis ruffled his hair and grinned brightly at him. “Thank goodness, because I cannot handle you moping around my basement anymore. It was getting ridiculous.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn said, rolling his eyes. “Like you’re any better. If I have to hear about Harry’s hands one more time, I’ll cut them off.”

Louis sighed happily. “They’re wonderful, though.”

“So are Liam’s…,” he paused. “Everything. All of him. He’s kind of perfect. It freaks me out a bit.”

Louis snorted. “No one’s perfect. Not even me, but I’m fairly close.”

Zayn shrugged because he thought Louis was wrong. He’d spent a lot of time trying to pick out little things about Liam that weren’t perfect, but there weren’t any. Okay, he was too nice for his own good, but that wasn’t really a bad thing. And he jiggled his leg a lot when he started to drift out of attention when they were working on his English, but then he’d grin sheepishly at Zayn because of it, so Zayn couldn’t even fault him for that.

Liam started turning back around, and Zayn sat up a little straighter, eyes on him as his shape went from small and barely distinguishable to larger, more features coming into light. Like the newly shaved head. Initially he’d been shocked; he had a thing for Liam’s curls. But the buzz cut made all his features stand out, made those already wide brown eyes seem impossibly larger, and made his jaw line more pronounced. And it looked good on him. Added a bit of an edge to him. It was sort of incredibly sexy, which wasn’t really fair because he was already beautifully attractive as it was.

“You’re really, truly in love with him, huh?” Louis asked suddenly.

Zayn pulled his eyes away from Liam’s approaching figure and frowned at him. “Yeah.” No point in denying it, really. “Painfully so, actually.”

“Hey,” Liam said brightly, coming to a stop not far from them. He bent down to grab a water bottle, unscrewing the lid before he brought it to his lips. Zayn watched his Adam’s apple bob, took in the sweat coating his forehead and forearms, and the way his shirt stuck to his chest. And fuck, why he was he not having sex with Liam right now? He really couldn’t remember any good reason not to.

“Harry’s still sleeping,” Louis said abruptly, standing up. “I’m going to try to catch another hour of sleep.”

Liam nodded and Zayn watched him walk back to his tent until Liam collapsed in the sand next to him. “Thought you were going back to sleep.”

Zayn shrugged and unwrapped the blanket from around him so he could throw it over Liam’s shoulders, too. Then he wrapped an arm around Liam’s waist and fell backwards, pulling him down with him. “I am,” Zayn told him. “Now that you’re back.”

Liam shifted a bit so the blanket was still underneath them but they were facing each other. He brushed a hand through Zayn’s hair, tugging lightly through the tangles. For once there weren’t many clouds, and the sun was far too bright. But Zayn let his eyes close anyways and fisted a hand in Liam’s shirt.

He fell asleep to Liam’s soft, barely audible, “I love you.”

\--

They headed back home at some point in the afternoon after everyone had gotten up. Niall and Gemma stayed at the beach a bit longer by themselves, but Liam and Harry headed out first in Harry’s car, and then Zayn and Louis left, too. Zayn could tell that Louis was wishing Liam had driven them, that way Harry could have gotten a ride with them instead. When it came to Harry, Louis was a bit clingy.

When he got home he looked around his apartment. It was stuffy and cold, and he went straight for the windows, pushing them all open, tugging back the curtains, letting in the clean air and the bright light, and then he grabbed the blank canvas from his room, where it had been sitting since that day Louis brought it. The paint was in the closet by the front door, and he grabbed it too before spreading the tarp out on the ground and pulling out the oranges and reds and a bit of brown and black.

When he was done he grabbed a cigarette and looked down at his work, deciding that it was as close to what he wanted as he could get. He tried to capture the orange and red of the sun on the inside of his eyelids from when he’d closed them and tried to sleep in the sand with Liam beside him.

Without even thinking he tugged his phone out of his pocket and brought up Liam’s contact. He couldn’t send him a simple _I miss you already_ , because that seemed too cheesy and he just couldn’t do it. Instead he sent _Come over tomorrow to work on Macbeth?_

Before Liam could reply he headed towards the shower, grabbing his towel as he went. Once he washed the sand from the beach and the paint from his skin, he changed into clean clothes, grabbed his phone, and texted Steve. He needed money.

\--

The thing was, he’d never really done this before. He’d never really wanted to date anyone, or do nice things for them, or impress them. But he sort of wanted to do all of those things for Liam, which was why he was sort of freaking out a bit.

Liam was coming over in about an hour, and the entire flat was spotless. He’d even lifted the couch -- and found things that he wished he hadn’t-- because it was easier to clean and distract himself than it was to think about the fact that Liam was coming over here, and Zayn was trying to do something sort of romantic if not a bit cheesy.

There was a lasagne in the oven, drinks in the fridge, and he even had real, ceramic plates, instead of the plastic ones he uses for himself. He’d also rented movies from that place down the street, even though he had a feeling they’d end up watching The Dark Knight Rises because it was both of their favourites.

But what if Liam thought it was a shitty date? What if Liam didn’t even realize it was a date? Or what if Liam realized that Zayn actually isn’t someone he should waste his time on, and decides to just leave halfway through with an apologetic look and a, “Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, convincing myself I was actually in love with you.”

Zayn sucked in a slightly laboured breath. He needed to stop being so fucking stupid about this. If Louis were here he’d probably slap him. Actually, maybe that’s exactly what he needed.

Zayn pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled Louis’ number. He pressed it to his ear and waited as he sunk down onto his couch, staring blankly at the television screen.

“Miss me already?” Louis asked as a way of greeting. “It’s only been twenty-four hours, love.”

Zayn rolled his eyes even though Louis couldn’t see it. “Shut up,” he replied. “I’m having Liam over in about an hour, and--,”

“Like for a _date_?” Louis asked.

Zayn groaned. “No, not a date. Or-- he doesn’t know it’s a date yet. I don’t know. Is this a bad idea?”

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

“No, I think I want to give him the world, and figured I might as well start with a movie date,” Zayn snapped.

Louis snorted. “So then why are you calling me?”

“Because-- I don’t know how to do this,” Zayn admitted quietly. “Okay? I’ve never-- dated. The only person I’ve ever really had a relationship with was Steve, and we both know that that didn’t exactly go well. I’m sort of panicking here.”

“Aw,” Louis cooed. “That’s adorable. My little Zaynie, all grown up.” He cut off the teasing tone. “What do you have planned?”

“Um.” Zayn licked his lips. “Lasagne and The Dark Knight Rises.”

Louis let out an annoyed huff of breath. “That’s it?”

Zayn went cold. “What am I missing?”

“Nothing, technically,” Louis said, and Zayn could hear him moving around. “But that sounds like the kind of night you and I would have. You’ve got to make it obvious that this is romantic. How long until he gets there?”

Zayn pulled his phone away from his ear to look at the time. “About forty minutes.”

“Damn it,” Louis moaned. “Okay, I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Wait, why?” Zayn asked, but Louis didn’t answer. The phone went dead and he stared down at it, a frown forming on his face. He had a feeling that this was going to go spectacularly wrong, and the only reason he didn’t call the whole thing off was because he had to show Liam that he was trying. That this whole thing had started out in a really fucked up way, but that it was possible to fix it, and that he _wanted_ to fix it.

Zayn pocketed his phone and went into the kitchen to check on the lasagne, only to find the whole kitchen smoking. He groaned and reached for the oven mitts, pulling the tray from the oven and placing it on top of the stove. The entire top layer was black and hard enough that, when he stabbed it with a fork, it crumbled.

Zayn covered his face with his arm for a moment, trying to take calming breaths, and then he called Louis again. “Pick something else up for dinner, too.”

“You burnt the lasagne, didn’t you?” Louis asked.

“Maybe.”

“Idiot.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn groaned, hanging up on him.

Louis was late, but almost forty minutes later Louis barged into the apartment, bags in his hands. He placed them all on the coffee table and grinned at Zayn before his lips straightened into a thin line and his eyebrows came together. “You’re really fretting over this whole thing, aren’t you?”

Zayn glared at him. “No, because I’m not doing it. I’m calling it off. Liam’ll come over, we’ll do homework, and that’s it. Fuck it to dating. Fuck it to being in love. I’m done. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Louis told him.

“Am I?” Zayn asked, sitting forward, elbows rested on his arms. “I went to make us lasagne, but I wouldn’t even feed that thing to a homeless dog because it’s so burnt. Then I decided to check where I put my Batman movie, and guess what? Someone must have sat on it, because it’s in three pieces. And then I thought, well, that’ll be fine, I rented movies. So I open the cases of the movie I rented, and the guy put the wrong fucking movie in the case, so now I’ve got some foreign romance movie with _subtitles_. Oh, and the Coke is flat, I don’t have any hair gel, and I got toothpaste on the shirt I wanted to wear. The world is trying to tell me that this is a bad idea, and I’m done trying to deny it.”

Zayn waited for Louis to say something consoling, but Louis wasn’t even looking at him. He was staring at something behind Zayn’s head. Zayn was about to ask him what, but then he bent down and whispered, “Candles in the first bag, Italian takeaway in the brown bag. I went to Harry’s and grabbed four of Liam’s favourite movies, too, as well as a CD he likes. There’s a cheap bottle of wine, and condoms and lube. Have fun.”

Zayn frowned but didn’t ask him why he was leaving. He just leaned his head back against the couch, closed his eyes, and wondered why everything had to be so hard.

 

* * *

 

**Liam**

Louis patted his shoulder as he left, and Liam smiled weakly at him before kicking off his shoes and quietly moving towards Zayn, who was still on the couch, eyes closed. He was still trying to wrap his head around this whole thing. Around Zayn going through any kind of trouble for him, trying to impress him. But apparently that was exactly what he’d done.

Liam dropped his bag on the floor and Zayn’s eyes flew open. “Shit,” Zayn moaned, shaking his head. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

A part of him really, really wanted to kiss away that worried, stressed out look on Zayn’s face, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be allowed to, so instead he sat down beside him. “You realize,” Liam said calmly, “that I don’t care what we do, right? That I don’t-- I don’t need some big, impressive date. That I’m actually happy to just sit on the floor with you while you read Macbeth to me?”

Zayn ran a hand through his hair, which was flat and fluffy, the way Liam liked it best. He wouldn’t meet Liam’s eyes. “I have a lot to prove to you, Liam, okay?” Zayn said. “Like, a lot. I fucked things up spectacularly, and you deserve better than that. You deserve better than this, too.”

Liam couldn’t help it; he rolled his eyes. “Zayn,” he said, a little harsher than he meant to. Zayn turned to him with a closed off look in his eyes that made Liam want to shiver. Instead he grabbed Zayn’s hand and squeezed it. “Stop trying to give me what you think I deserve, okay? Because I don’t want that. I just want you. And if that means shitty dates with burnt lasagne, that’s what I want, alright?”

“We can’t eat the lasagne,” Zayn said quietly. “I threw it out.”

Liam released his hand and stood up, pushing the coffee table over to make space on the floor. He riffled through the bags that Louis left on the table, finding food and candles and some of his favourite movies. He skipped everything except for the food and placed it on the floor beside him. He took out the cartoons, opening the lids, releasing the steam from the cooked noodles and the scent of tomatoes and spices, and then tugged his Macbeth book out of his bag.

“Come on,” Liam urged, tossing the book into Zayn’s lap. “I only have until the end of break to get this done.”

Zayn sat there, staring down at the book, for a long moment before he grinned and slid down to the floor. They ate between reading and writing down important notes, and after a bit the worried look on Zayn’s face relaxed, and Liam shut the food containers and tossed his notebook aside so he could curl up against Zayn’s side. Zayn didn’t push him away, either, though a part of him kept waiting for it. Kept waiting for Zayn to laugh and tell him that this was all a joke, and that he didn’t really mean any of it. But that wasn’t really fair to Zayn because he was trying, and Liam’s chest hurt just thinking about that.

Zayn dropped the book and ran a hand over Liam’s hair. He pressed a kiss to his forehead and, very quietly, whispered, “I love you.” The words tickled his skin and Liam turned to face him. “Like, I really, really do. You get that, right? That it freaks me out so fucking much, but I mean it. And I’m probably going to keep screwing things up all the time. I’m not good at this, and I don’t think I ever will be, but I _want_ to be.”

Liam turned so that he was fully facing Zayn, and then he kissed him. It was light and sweet and their lips were slightly sticky from the tomato sauce, but Liam didn’t care at all because Zayn kissed him back. And then kissed him again, harder, the press of his lips almost bruising in the way that Liam loved. His hands tangled in Zayn’s hair, soft between his fingers, and he tugged a bit until Zayn’s lips parted and their tongues moved together.

And then Zayn was pushing him down, Liam’s back trapping his notebook between the ground. The spine dug into his back but he didn’t care because Zayn was straddling his hips and groaning into his mouth. But then Zayn was pulling back abruptly, eyes wide, and he said, “Can I show you something?”

Liam grinned up at him. “I’d like you to show me a lot of things.”

Zayn snorted and pushed himself up, and then offered Liam a hand. Liam took it, letting Zayn tug him up, but Zayn didn’t release his hand afterwards. He kept it in his, fingers curling into the spaces between Liam’s, and they fit. They fit so perfectly that Liam never wanted to let go.

“It’s in my room,” Zayn explained, tugging Liam through the apartment. “Don’t laugh at it, okay?”

Liam frowned. “Why would I laugh?”

Zayn shrugged and stopped in front of his door, which was closed. He pushed it open slowly and guided Liam into the room.

Liam had been in Zayn’s room before, but only briefly. He couldn’t really remember exact details. Now he carefully memorized each one, like the closet to the left, and the large bed in the middle. The dresser by the wall with the window, and then the painting on the wall. The beautiful painting on the wall, all muted browns and bright reds, slashes of paint that didn’t really form a picture, but were beautiful nonetheless.

“Did you paint that?” Liam asked, turning to Zayn, who was biting his bottom lip nervously. He wasn’t sure why he asked that, but there was something in the strokes of paint that made Liam think that Zayn had. Something about the controlled chaos of the whole thing that reminded him a lot of the way Zayn made him feel.

“You sort of inspired it,” Zayn admitted. “Subconsciously, I guess.”

Liam took another look at the painting, trying to see how. And he sort of could, maybe. The colours, the browns and reds. But it was beautiful and Liam was just sort of average. Instead of pointing this out he kissed Zayn again, slow and relaxed, like he could do this forever, which he would if he could.

“We should get out of the bedroom,” Zayn breathed into the kiss.

Liam smiled against Zayn’s lips. “Or we could stay in here.”

Zayn pulled back, eyes heavily lidded. He let his hand move under Liam’s shirt, over his back, and Liam wanted less clothes between them.

Zayn leaned back in, but not for a kiss. Instead he moved his lips down Liam’s jaw while turning them a bit. His lips ghosted over Liam’s neck before he bit down softly, and Liam’s eyes fell closed as Zayn sucked on the skin afterwards. He figured there’d be a mark there tomorrow that he’d have to hide from his parents, but he couldn’t really care, not when Zayn was stepping forward, guiding him towards the bed.

Liam’s legs hit the edge of the bed and he fell backwards onto it, Zayn on top of him instantly. He was hard already, erection pressed painfully against his jeans, and there was a part of him that was wondering if this was going too fast, if maybe they should slow down. But there was a much bigger part of him that didn’t think they were going fast enough yet.

Zayn sat up, legs on either side of Liam’s body, and tugged off his shirt. Liam wanted to roll them over, wanted to run his tongue over all of Zayn’s tattoos. But Zayn tugged at Liam’s shirt before he could, and Liam pushed himself up a bit so they could get it off.

Zayn’s nails scratched over his chest, and Liam arched into it, wanting Zayn’s skin pressed against his. “Fuck, you make it really hard to say no.”

Liam frowned at him. “Why are you saying no?”

Zayn sighed and rolled off Liam’s body, leaving him cold and wanting Zayn on him again. Zayn laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and said, “I don’t want you to think that this is all I want from you. Because I do want it, _you_ , really fucking badly, but that’s not _all_ I want.”

Liam rolled onto his side and traced the thin path of hair that led from Zayn’s bellybutton to under his jeans. “You think that if we have sex, I’ll think that’s all you want from me.”

Zayn tilted his head to face him and nodded.

Liam sighed and moved to push his hair off his forehead, but then remembered that it wasn’t there anymore. “We can’t keep doing this forever,” Liam said quietly. “We can’t keep tiptoeing around each other because we’re afraid of what will happen. We’re going to ruin things if we try to make them perfect, Zayn.”

Zayn pushed himself up a bit so he was leaning on one hand. “So what are you saying, then?”

Liam tilted his head to the side. “I’m saying that we need to just let things happen. If we screw up, we screw up. It’s going to take a lot more than burnt lasagne or questioned motives to make me stop loving you.”

“This is really fucking cheesy,” Zayn muttered, but he was grinning.

“You’re the one being cheesy,” Liam pointed out.

“I blame you for that,” Zayn said, tugging Liam on top of him. Liam moved so that he was straddling Zayn the way he’d been straddling Liam moments ago. “I wasn’t cheesy before I met you. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was a badass, but you’ve ruined me.”

“I think you’ve ruined me, too,” Liam said softly.

Zayn grinned up at him. “I was afraid of that, you know. But now I sort of really want to again, just in a different way.”

Liam didn’t ask what that meant because Zayn was unbuttoning his jeans, and then pulling down the zipper. Liam sucked in a breath when Zayn palmed him through his boxers, and he bent down to kiss him again to hold back the moan that threatened to spill out of him.

“Is this okay?” Zayn asked, reaching for the button on his own jeans.

Liam nodded. “Yeah. Yes. Please.”

Zayn smirked and shimmied his hips a little to wiggle out of his jeans, and then he pushed Liam’s down a bit. Without warning he dug his fingers into Liam’s hips and rolled him over, and Liam stared up at him with wide eyes.

“The things I want to do to you…,” Zayn said softly.

“I’m not saying no,” Liam said hesitantly.

Zayn nodded. “I know, but when I fuck you -- or the other way around, because I’m really looking forward to that, too--, I want it to be different. I don’t want it to be a heat of the moment thing. I want it to mean something. I want to be positive that we’re both ready for it. Okay?”

Liam wanted to tell him that he was ready for it now, but he wasn’t exactly sure if he was, actually. Instead he nodded and Zayn hooked his fingers under the waistband of Liam’s boxers, pulling them down just enough that his erection was unclothed. He bit down on his lip, feeling self-conscious suddenly because Zayn’s eyes were roaming over his body slowly, taking in every inch of him.

Zayn wrapped a hand around him and Liam let his head fall back. A moment later the contact was gone and he whined, wanting it back. Zayn was busy getting out of his own boxers, and then he leaned forward to kiss Liam again, pressing them together everywhere. His cock dug into Zayn’s leg a bit, and Zayn ground his hips forward, giving them just the right amount of friction when they rubbed together.

Liam grabbed Zayn’s ass, pulling them together a bit more roughly, and Zayn moaned against his lips. “Fuck, Liam.”

Liam’s hips jerked up of their own accord and Zayn’s pushed down. They slid together just right, and he knew that he could come like this, just their bodies sliding together. He couldn’t even be embarrassed about that either, because Zayn was rutting against him shamelessly, muttering a litany of ‘fuck’ and ‘I love you’ and ‘perfect’ against Liam’s neck.

Liam felt that tightening in his stomach when Zayn pulled back. Liam wasn’t too proud to admit that he would beg for it if he had to, because he was so hard and close and he needed Zayn. He really, really needed him.

“I’ve got you,” Zayn promised, probably sensing Liam’s thoughts, and he moved a hand between them, wrapping it around both of them, tugging slowly. Liam pushed up into his hand, lost in the feel of Zayn’s calloused fingers and his cock moving against Liam’s, and the way Zayn’s eyes were trained on him, like he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to, and he definitely didn’t want to.

Liam came first, biting down on the fleshy part of his palm. Zayn jerked him through it until it was too much, and then he kissed Liam again before releasing him. He kept a hand around himself, though, fingers slicked by Liam’s come, and Liam couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Zayn’s fingers moved over himself, quick and sure. When he came he had his head tilted back, eyes closed, and his body was tensed on top of Liam’s. Liam wanted that picture ingrained in his mind for the rest of his life.

Afterwards, after Zayn had grabbed a damp cloth to clean them up, they laid in Zayn’s bed, under the covers, legs tangled together. Zayn looked ready to fall asleep, though it couldn’t be any later than eight.

“So this wasn’t the worst date ever, then?” Zayn asked hesitantly, not opening his eyes.

“Definitely not,” Liam agreed, rubbing circles into Zayn’s hip. “Can I ask you out, though?”

Zayn finally opened his eyes, and he frowned. “You want to take me out.”

Liam nodded, a bit nervously, and said, “You can say no. It’s going to be really awkward, but I sort of have to go for Harry, and I’d like it a lot if you came with me.”

“I’d come with you wherever you wanted to take me,” Zayn said sincerely.

Liam decided that Zayn was definitely a liar. He was seriously cheesy, and Liam sort of loved it. “Harry’s dad’s wedding. It’s at the end of March.”

“Doesn’t Harry hate his dad?” Zayn asked, frowning.

Liam nodded. “But he has to go anyways.”

Zayn pulled him closer and kissed the mark on Liam’s neck. “Are you going to wear a suit?”

“Yes, it’s sort of required.”

“Then I’ll definitely be there,” Zayn promised.

Liam pulled back and smiled at him, bright and unabashedly. Zayn could call it a bad date as much as he wanted, but Liam couldn’t remember a moment where he was ever this genuinely, impossibly happy.

 

* * *

 

**Harry**

The week before the wedding was hectic. He had to get a new suit because his old one was too short around the arms and the legs. He had a huge History paper due, too, that he couldn’t stop working on. And he was also struggling to find time to see Louis, since the two of them were so busy, what with Louis’ play and Harry’s -- everything.

He was not looking forward to the wedding. In fact, he wanted to just skip the whole thing. He wanted to make a new CD, get in his car, pick up Louis and then just drive and drive and keep going until the wedding and his mums _fiancé_ and everything else was too far away to be seen in the rear-view mirror.

Harry was going to meet him at the wedding. Because the wedding wasn’t already something Harry was dreading, she just had to go and make it worse by telling him on Wednesday, “Geoff is coming with me to the wedding, and I’d like it if you’d sit with us.”

Harry had shaken his head no. No way. The wedding was this horrible, torturous thing in his mind, and the only thing that had made it any better was the fact that he’d be able to sit with Louis and Liam and Niall and Zayn during the reception. He just hadn’t told his mum that yet, though. He’d told his father specifically to make sure that Harry was seated with his friends, and he’d said that he was already planning that. His mum would just have to deal with it.

Louis was picking him up to drive to the venue, which was some hall just outside of town. The ceremony itself was held outside, on the lawn, but the reception was inside the building. Harry had driven past the place on several occasions but he’d never been inside.

“You’ll be fine,” Niall said as he and Gemma headed out the door. Gemma was driving the both of them, and his mum had left over an hour ago. “I already told Louis that no matter how many times you ask, he’s not to take you anywhere but the wedding, so don’t even think about it.”

Harry rolled his eyes and tugged on his tie. He hated wearing suits. It was uncomfortable and way too hot, and the stupid tie was like a noose around his neck. What he really needed right now wasn’t Louis, or to get out of the suit. He needed Liam.

The second the door shut behind Niall and Gemma, he went into the kitchen so he could watch out the window for Louis. He was supposed to be there about now, but he was running late, apparently. Harry drummed his fingers on the table, his irritation growing. Not with Louis, but with everything. He was actually a bit grateful that everything had been so hectic lately, because it kept him occupied and too busy to spend much time dwelling on everything.

Just as he was ready to rip off the stupid tie, a familiar car pulled up out front and Louis honked the horn. Harry grinned and got up, heading for the door. He grabbed the CD from the table and then locked the door behind himself on the way out.

As he slid into the passenger seat Louis gave him a slow once over. Louis was wearing a simple black suit, with his hair done up a bit different. It was almost slicked back, and he looked… really freaking good.

“You’re not making me want to go to this wedding anymore by looking like that,” Harry told him. “I kind of want to just take you back into the house and--,”

Louis raised a hand, signalling for him to stop. “Don’t give me any ideas. We are going. It’s going to be fine. You’re going to be respectful and charming, and then we’re going to eat some sup-bar wedding food, I’m going to steal us a bottle of wine from the kitchen, and it will be _fine_.”

Harry sighed. “So an impromptu trip to London is out of the question, then?”

Louis smiled weakly at him and then reached up to brush a curl off his Harry’s forehead. “I’m going to be right here, okay? And Liam is going to be there, and Niall, and Zayn. You’ll make it through it. It won’t be that bad.”

Harry swallowed and nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, because it probably wouldn’t be. He was just blowing things out of proportion because that’s what he _did_. “I made you a CD, by the way.”

Louis grinned and pulled away from the house while holding out his hand. Harry passed him the CD and he flipped it over, eyes darting between the road and the CD case before he opened it and put it in. The first song started up, playing the familiar opening chords of Lifehouse’s _Hanging By a Moment_. It hadn’t taken Harry long to learn that Louis liked songs that made him feel nostalgic, which was the theme of the whole CD. Just a bunch of songs that Harry remembered listening to when he was thirteen or fourteen.

Louis turned the volume up and grabbed Harry’s hand with his free one, driving one handed. The music was loud, the way Harry liked it, and Louis sang loudly along with the song until Harry had no choice but to join in with him, just because.

By the time they got to the venue they were just finishing up the closing lines of _Ocean Avenue_. Louis parked the car in the lot, which was almost completely filled. They were stuck at the far back, but Harry recognized Liam’s car just behind theirs. As Louis pulled the keys from the ignition Harry spotted Liam and Zayn getting out of the car, and Louis groaned.

“Look at that asshole,” Louis said, eyes narrowing on Zayn. “How the hell does he manage to look like a model without even trying? I really hate him sometimes.”

Harry put a hand on Louis’ thigh and leaned into him. “You look better,” he said roughly. “Much, much better.”

Louis’ cheeks flushed and he pushed open the car door. “Out, before I decide to just say fuck it and drag you home by that ridiculous tie.”

Harry grinned but obliged, mostly because he still really needed his best friend. Louis instantly went over to Zayn and scruffed up his hair, which made Zayn punch him on the arm. Harry went straight for Liam’s arms.

“Hey,” Liam said softly, gently petting Harry’s hair, which should have been a bit awkward, considering the fact that both of their boyfriends were right there, but instead was just comforting. “Remember that time when we were sixteen and we stole your mum’s car to drive all the way to London to see that band you like--,”

“Dave Matthews Band,” Harry supplied instantly.

“Yeah, that one,” Liam said. “Just hold on to that, yeah? Just remember that good time, because it was really awesome, and sometimes it helps to remember the good things during the bad times. Because this is going to suck. I’m not going to tell you differently, because it is. You’re going to have to stand up there during the vows and you’re going to have to play nice with your mum’s fiancé and you’re going to have to sit with them during the speeches. But sometimes you have to do shit you don’t want to because it makes the people you care about happy.”

Someone coughed and Harry pulled back to see Louis giving them a raised eyebrow look. “We’re going to be late,” he said apologetically. “As much as I hate to break up that adorable scene….”

Harry rolled his eyes and released Liam, giving him a pat on the arm. “You’re a brilliant friend, you know that?”

Liam shrugged uncomfortably. “Just don’t throw anything at anyone today, okay?”

Harry shook his head solemnly. “I’m not making promises I can’t keep.”

The ceremony was a bit clichéd, in Harry’s opinion. Yvette had four bridesmaids, each one dressed in an unflattering blue silk dress that Harry figured she picked out to make sure she looked even better by comparison. Gemma was stuck in the same dress, and she’d done nothing but complain about it since she’d come home from Uni two days ago.

He could see his mum in one of the rows of chairs to his left. She was seated beside a tall, wide man with light brown hair and a pleasant smile. Harry didn’t hate him on sight, at least. Who knew what he’d think after actually _talking_ to him though.

Harry sort of tuned out during the exchanging of vows. They were soppy and ridiculous, and he seriously doubted that John actually wrote his. People cried. Yvette sobbed dramatically. Harry locked eyes with Louis and held his gaze the whole time, until finally John and Yvette kissed and they were all ushered inside the building.

The room where the reception was held was nice, not that that fact was really surprising. There were about twenty round tables and they were all decorated with some weird, tall centerpiece that matched the bridesmaid dresses. There was another table, this one long and at the front of the room, right against the wall sized windows, where he was going to have to sit during the toasts, unfortunately. The ceiling was also glass, and there were lights strung up around the edges of it, giving the whole room a warm sort of feel.

Harry found his seat at the long table and sat down, instantly reaching for a glass of champagne. It tasted sour and wrong in his mouth, but he kept drinking it anyways as the rest of the seats filled up. He could see Liam, Louis, Zayn, and Niall finding their seats closer to the door. Louis was laughing at something Niall had said, and Zayn and Liam were holding onto each other, heads bent down, like they were the only two in the room. Harry watched as Liam ducked his head to smile, while Zayn lifted his chin and grinned brightly.

They fit, he realized. Liam and Zayn. Like two puzzle pieces that went side by side. Liam was calm and bashful, while Zayn was all smirks and cockiness. They balanced each other out. He and Louis weren’t like that, though. They were like two pieces from separate puzzles that had been pushed together. They didn’t really go together at all, but somehow they worked anyways.

Harry was trying to catch Louis’ eye when someone flopped into the seat next to him a little too hard, making his champagne nearly fall over.

“God, I hate him,” Gemma hissed, pushing her hair off her shoulder with an irritated look on her face.

Harry tried to smile but failed. “It’s not that bad,” he said, which was a bit surprising, given the fact that he’d seriously considered not even coming.

“Have you even spoken to him?” Gemma demanded. “He’s -- stuffy and rude, and he looks at her like a piece of _meat_.”

Harry frowned. “Who are we talking about, again?’

“ _Geoff_ ,” she said loudly. Their table was filling up now with Yvette’s family and John’s mother. Harry had met her twice, and he refused to call that woman grandmother.

Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised. “You’ve met him, then?”

Gemma nodded furiously. “He’s detestable. I can’t believe she’s going to marry him. What is she thinking?”

Harry looked around, trying to spot his mum in the crowd. He couldn’t. “I don’t know,” Harry said. “I’m sure she has her reasons.”

Gemma rolled his eyes. “Bad reasons. I mean, I get that she was lonely. We talk all the time, and I know she was waiting on John and, well, that didn’t happen. And I know that she was lost when you weren’t with her, because she hated having the house to herself. I don’t think she should just settle for the first man who tries to put a ring on her finger, though.”

Harry blinked, feeling his gut twist. “She said that?”

Gemma gives him a distracted look. “Yes.”

“She never told me she was lonely.” Harry said quietly.

Gemma rolled her eyes. “That’s because you wouldn’t understand. You’re far too angsty . She probably figured you’d get upset about her even considering dating.”

He couldn’t lie and say that he hadn’t been. But he wanted his mum to be happy. He didn’t want her to be sad because she thought he’d be unhappy with her moving on with her life. Yes, he’d been furious about the engagement, but that’s because she hadn’t told him. She’d just-- sprung it on him without warning. Or John had. And that hadn’t been fair. But still.

“I need to talk to her,” Harry said abruptly, pushing away from the table.

Gemma grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. “You can’t go. Not until after the speeches.”

Harry reluctantly nodded and then reached for his champagne glass again, just as the doors to the room opened and his father and Yvette made their big entrance. Harry thought that Yvette seemed to struggle a bit with the ridiculous amounts of material in her dress, but everyone at their table clapped and the girls all cooed, except for Gemma, who smiled tightly and clapped sharply.

Harry couldn’t help but remember what Liam had said all through the speeches. Sometimes you did have to do shit you didn’t want to because it made people you cared about happy. Which is why, right after the speeches were done and he and Gemma were permitted to head to their table, Harry went to find his mum instead.

They were a few tables down from his table, and his mum was chatting with the woman on her left while Geoff chatted with the man across the table.

“Hi,” Harry said awkwardly.

“Harry,” his mum said, looking surprised. “Oh, Geoff,” she turned to her -- fiance (it was still a bit difficult to think of this random stranger like that, but there was the ring, shiny and new on her finger). “This is my son, Harry.”

Harry forced a polite smile onto his face and extended his hand to Geoff. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “My mum’s told me a lot about you.”

“Likewise,” Geoff replied. He had sweaty hands and a five o’clock shadow, and his eyes were a watery, flat blue, but his mum looked at him like he was the second coming of Christ or something, so there had to be _something_ in there, Harry figured. “Are you joining us?”

“No, actually--,” Harry pointed over his shoulder to where his friends were. “I’ve got to go sit with my boyfriend, actually.” Okay, so that wasn’t exactly part of the ‘be polite’ plan, but he wanted to see how Geoff reacted. There was little to no change in his expression, so maybe he wouldn’t be horrible after all. “I just thought I’d come introduce myself to my mum’s, um, fiancé.”

His mum looked like she was about to cry. She stood up and hugged him tightly, enveloping him in her thin arms and the smell of her sharp perfume. Harry hugged her back and when they separated she was smiling wobbly at him.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Love you,” Harry said back. “But I really do have to go. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

Anne nodded and then shoved him away, saying, “Tell Liam I said he looks dashing. And tell your sister to stop tugging at her dress straps, she’s stretching them.”

Harry rolled his eyes and nodded before heading towards his own table. Louis was the only one who looked up at him, because Zayn was whispering something in Liam’s ear that had Liam blushing, and Gemma was telling some story to Niall while using her hands a lot.

“You okay?” Louis asked as he slid into the seat beside him.

Harry grabbed Louis’ hand, tangling their fingers. “I’m great, actually.”

“So I don’t need to make sure we have a quick exit out of this place?” Louis confirmed, raising his eyebrows.

Harry snorted and brushed his hair off his head. “You all act like I’m so dramatic.”

“Because you are,” Gemma cut.

“A bit, yeah,” Niall added.

“Sometimes,” Liam said with a grin.

Zayn raised his hands as if to say that he wasn’t getting involved. “That’s it,” Harry said, glaring at them all. “Zayn is my only friend now. I hate you all.”

“And you wonder why we all call you dramatic,” Louis said, chuckling. He pulled Harry closer. “But I wouldn’t love you any other way.”

“Gross,” Niall said, grimacing.

“Cheesy as shit,” Zayn puts in.

Louis tensed and pulled away from Harry to fix Zayn with a threatening look. “You’re one to talk,” he told Zayn. “Should I tell Liam all the lovely, disgustingly sweet things you say about him to me on the phone after he leaves?”

Liam flushed red but Zayn shrugged and leaned back in his seat, looking calm and relaxed. “Go ahead. I tell him those things every day.”

“Why aren’t you that sweet with me?” Gemma demands of Niall.

Niall snorts at her. “Because you don’t fall for shit like that.”

“Mm, you're right.”

Harry shook his head at all of them. Today was supposed to completely suck, but he couldn’t help but think that there wasn’t a single place he’d rather be at the moment. When Louis leaned into him and brushed his lips softly against his temple, it only reinforced that thought.

 

* * *

 

**Louis**

  
He was just getting out of the shower and towel drying his hair when he mum knocked on his door. Louis frowned and shook out his hair before yelling, “What?”

“You’ve got company,” his mum shouted through the door. “Should I just send him up?”

Louis’ eyes widened and he stared at himself in the mirror. Harry wasn’t supposed to be here for at least another hour. That was the plan. They’d discussed this. And now he was screwing it all up, and Louis wasn’t ready yet, and _shit_.

“Send him in,” Louis answered, sounding much calmer than he felt.

He finished drying his hair and attempted to style the still damp tresses into something that was presentable. He failed miserably and gave up, knowing he’d have to finish it later when it was fully dried. He grabbed the clothes he’d brought in with him and tugged them on, not bothering to look in the mirror because he knew he looked like a dishevelled mess.

Louis sighed and pushed open his bedroom door, ready to kiss and strangle his boyfriend, simultaneously, but it wasn’t Harry sitting on the edge of his bed with his hands folded in his lap. It was Liam.

“What are you doing here?” Louis asked, surprised. He didn’t mean for it to come out as an accusation, but it did.

“Um.” Liam rubbed the back of his neck. “I know you have that thing with Harry in a bit, but I sort of wanted to talk to you about something. It has to do with Zayn.”

Louis felt himself grow cold as he slowly moved farther into the room. “You’re not breaking up with him, are you?”

Liam gaped at him. “No- _no_ , god, why would you ask that?”

_Because Zayn thinks he’s far too good for you. Because he keeps waiting for you to agree with him. Because it would break him irreparably if you did, and it worries me, too, because I don’t think I’ll be able to pick up the pieces this time if you did_. The thoughts flit through Louis’ mind but he pushed them away because, unlike Zayn, Louis could see just how much Liam truly loved him back. Sees it every time Liam smiled at Zayn when they’re together, every time he brushed his hands through Zayn’s hair, or hesitantly took his hand, like he was afraid Zayn might not allow him to. The two of them were truly, ridiculously in love with each other, to the point where it was a bit disgusting to witness, but Louis doesn’t even get upset at the way they cling to each other, or at the fact that his best friend has someone he runs to first now, because he’s just genuinely happy for him. For them.

“What about him, then?” Louis asked, tossing his dirty clothes into the hamper.

“It’s not really my place,” Liam admitted. “It’s just that, after this summer, once we’ve all graduated, we’re all going to be gone and he’s going to be stuck here.”

Louis frowned at him. “Really? I figured he’d just hide himself in your suitcase and make you take him with you.”

Liam smiled down at his hands. “I would if I could.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Are we here to have a conversation or are you going to pull a Zayn and start reciting poetry about his lips to me?”

“Sorry,” Liam said, giving him an apologetic look. “But, like I said, it’s not really my place, I just couldn’t help it, and I’ve been looking into this for a while, but I wanted to talk to you first because you know him better than anyone else.”

Louis couldn’t see where this was going, so he sat down on his bed beside Liam and waited for him to get out with it.

“There’s this program,” Liam explained slowly. “It’s in town, and it’s at night so he can still do whatever it is he does.” Sell weed, Louis thought, but he didn’t say it. Liam was aware of what Zayn did, though they never spoke about it. “And the courses are simple. He goes in for an hour and then he can do the rest of it on his own time, and he said he only dropped out last year, so he should be able to graduate by the end of the year if he focuses, and--,”

“Wait, you’re trying to get him back in school?” Louis asked, eyes wide.

Liam looked horrified. “It’s that bad of an idea? I mean, I wasn’t going to pressure him into it. I was just going to suggest it, because I genuinely think he’s brilliant and he’s so much better than all of this, and I _know_ he has a bright future, if he just--,” Liam cut himself off. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. Forget about it.”

“No, Liam--,” Louis put a hand on a Liam’s shoulder because the other boy looked close to running away. “Sit down. I’m just processing this, because I’m kind of taken aback. God, you really are perfect, aren’t you? I mean, it’s not just Zayn’s heart eyes, you really want what’s best for him.”

“Of course I do,” Liam answered. “He deserves it.”

“He does,” Louis agreed. He’d been saying it for years, but Zayn is as thick as he is attractive, and he never listened. But if anyone could get through to him, he had a feeling it would be Liam. “You haven’t brought it up with him yet?”

Liam shook his head, no. “I was going to do it tonight. There’s a deadline for registration. It had to be done before June. I just thought it might be a good idea, and he’s smart enough to get a scholarship, too, and this school is supposed to be really good at helping dropouts who want to get back into school, and I just thought that-- that maybe next year when I leave for Uni, we’ll both be going, not just me.”

Louis couldn’t help it; he hugged Liam so tight that the other boy groaned in pain before Louis released him. “Sorry. I think I might be a little in love with you too, though.”

Liam shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks.”

Louis ignored him. “And I think this is a brilliant, wonderful idea. Let me know what he says, okay? And if they need money for tuition, tell me. I’ll pay for it. I don’t want him to have to worry about it.”

Liam nodded and stood up. He headed for the door but paused in front of it. “You know, I was a little doubtful about you at first, but I’m really happy that you’re in his life. And mine.”

“I’d never leave Zayn,” Louis said with a wave of his hand.

“No, I meant Harry, not Zayn,” Liam said softly. He grinned. “God only knows that his broody self needs someone like you.”

“Someone like me,” Louis repeated, eyebrows raised.

Liam’s grin widened. “You know what I mean. And good luck for tonight. Might need you to give me some pointers.”

Louis tilted his head to the side. “You planning on coming out to your parents too?”

Liam laughed. “No, they already know about that. But I’ve got to break it to my dad that I’m taking the scholarship from Handlor instead of the school we’ve been set on for years. It’s closer to here, only an hour away, and it’s got a really, really good veterinary program. That way I have something to fall back on if this whole rugby thing doesn’t work out.”

“He shouldn’t care,” Louis told him. “If you’re doing what makes you happy, that’s all that matters.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Louis realized it was a bit hypocritical to say that. He was the one who was planning on taking law just because his father wanted him to.

“You sound like Harry,” Liam pointed out.

“He speaks words of wisdom sometimes,” Louis admitted. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I definitely won’t,” Liam promised. “Bye, Lou.”

Louis waved him off and the door closed between them. Louis couldn’t help the grin that stayed on his face, and he was so grateful for Liam, because that conversation kept him distracted for the next half an hour, time that he probably would have spent stressing and freaking out over what he was about to do.

It wasn’t until Harry arrived that he started doing just that. Harry had been in his room numerous times by this point, only it was when Louis’ parents weren’t home. He walked straight in without knocking and threw himself onto Louis’ bed, long legs hanging off the edge. He looked good, too, in dress pants and a dress shirt.

“It’s just dinner with my parents,” Louis pointed out, frowning at him. “You didn’t have to dress up.”

“You’re not from around here, young Louis,” Harry answered. “Nothing is ever just dinner.”

Louis rolled his eyes and adjusted his own shirt. “Don’t mock me.”

“I won’t if you come over here,” Harry said, waggling his eyebrows. “You look really hot in glasses, have I ever told you that?”

Louis reached up and slid his fingers over the frames. “I hate them.” He always opted for contacts, though he hated the contacts, too. They looked better, anyhow. He looked like a 30 year old English teacher with his glasses on.

“Dinner’ll be ready in twenty!” his mum shouted from downstairs.

Louis went cold. “Twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes,” Harry repeated, sitting up. He regarded Louis with a look that was too emotion filled for Louis to look at for too long. “It’ll be fine, Louis.”

Louis shook his head. “My mum will be. My dad-- just, if things go badly, promise that you’ll get me out of here?”

Harry stood up and wrapped his arms around Louis’ middle. “I promise,” he said, kissing Louis’ cheek. “It’ll be fine.” He kissed the other cheek. “They’ll love you no matter what.”

“I hope so,” Louis said softly.

“Think a blowjob would take your mind off things?” Harry whispered against his neck.

Louis groaned and fisted a hand in Harry’s hair, pants instantly getting too tight. Damn Harry Fucking Styles. He was going to destroy Louis one of these days, and Louis would probably thank him for it.

“My parents are downstairs,” Louis reminded him, but he didn’t stop his hips from grinding forward against Harry’s.

“I know,” Harry said, biting softly on his neck.

Louis pushed him away before he succumbed to him. “You’re evil.”

“I have a glasses kink,” Harry admitted, pouting.

“Later,” Louis conceded. “Okay?”

Harry grinned. “I’ll hold you to that. Until then, I brought you another CD.”

Louis grinned. He had a feeling that, by this time next year, he’d have a whole collection of CDs from Harry. And he wasn’t complaining at all as he took the plastic case from him and moved towards his CD player. He put the disc in and waited for the first song to start.

“I’ve been on a Marianas Trench kick for a few days,” Harry admitted, sinking onto Louis’ bed again. “A few of their songs are a bit too mainstream for me-- don’t call me a hipster, asshole, it’s the truth-- but some of their other stuff is really good. What do you think?”

Louis straddled Harry’s hips. “I think that you’re brilliant.”

“I meant about the song,” Harry said, falling back onto the bed, pulling Louis down with him. “This one’s called _Perfect_.”

“I still stand by my claim that you’re brilliant.”

“You’re an idiot,” Harry said fondly, running his hands through Louis’ hair, and Louis wasn’t even upset about him messing it up. “I love you anyways.”

The spent the next fifteen minutes listening to the CD. Louis recognized one of the songs, the more upbeat, catchy one, but Harry got up and changed that one until they were listening to a different one with a bit of a heavier, rough sound.

Louis closed his eyes just as Harry said, “I think it’s been twenty minutes, babe.”

Louis groaned. “I don’t want to anymore.”

“Lou,” Harry said quietly.

Louis sighed and sat up. He fixed his clothes and then gave Harry a wide eyed look. He was kind of panicking, just a bit. He wanted to be honest with parents. He wanted them to not care about this. He wanted to date Harry and still have his perfect life, but he had a feeling he couldn’t have all those things together. Like-- the world had to balance itself out, so he could get this wonderful thing with Harry, but he had to sacrifice something to get it.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?” Harry asked as they walked towards the door.

Louis shook his head. “No, I think I want to tell them first, P.D.A. second.”

Harry nodded but put a hand on the small of Louis’ back until they got to the stairs. He dropped it but stayed close enough that, if Louis wanted, he could lean into him. And he really, really wanted to. He just couldn’t.

Both of his parents were waiting for them in the kitchen. His father sat at he head of the table, dressed in the simple suit that he wore to work. His mother was carrying plates to the table, her hair tied back in a tight bun. Louis swallowed and forced himself not to throw up the sandwich he’d had for lunch.

“Mum, dad,” Louis said, still in the doorway. “This is Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, dear,” his mother said, smiling sweetly. “Come sit down.”

His father grunted his own greeting, but Louis didn’t move.

“This is Harry,” Louis repeated, squeezing his eyes closed. “My boyfriend.”

“That’s nice,” his mum said. “Sit down, yeah?”

Louis sighed and gave Harry a lost look, but Harry only grinned at him encouragingly. “Mum,” Louis said, louder, firmer. She looked up at him, eyebrows raised, and Louis realized that his father was openly gaping at him. “Um.” He swallowed thickly. “It’s just-- this is-- I--. I like guys. Okay? Can we just, like, not make a big deal about this? Because no one else has, and I really don’t think I could handle either of you making a big deal of this, I just--,”

His mother sighed and pushed a strand of hair off her forehead. She put a hand on her his and then levelled him with a stern look. “Louis Tomlinson, I am very happy that you decided to share this with us, but if you do not learn your manners and sit your guest down the way you have been taught to do, I will--,”

“Right, okay,” Louis said quickly, tugging Harry into the room.

Louis sat down at the seat closest to the window, Harry directly across from him. And maybe it would be okay, he realized. Maybe it really wasn’t going to be a big thing. Maybe they could just act like normal, because, really, everything _was_ normal. The only difference was that it was Harry sitting across from him and not Eleanor, and Louis was genuinely, completely happy with that fact.

“So we’re just going to act like this okay, then?” his father asked suddenly.

His mum, on the way to grab the plates of food, froze in her step and then turned to face him, eyes narrowed. “How else do you suggest we react to this?” she asked carefully.

His father looked at a loss for words. “He-- we-- _my_ son is _not_ gay.”

Louis lowered his gaze to the table cloth until Harry’s foot nudged his under the table. Harry looked completely calm and unfazed by all of this, but if he looked a little closer he thought he could see Harry’s hands balled into fists and the tightness around his mouth.

“I never said that I was,” Louis cut in, sitting up a bit straighter. “I’m still working this out, okay? All I know is that I like some boys, and I like some girls, and I just-- I just don’t see why that has to matter to anyone, really.”

His mother leaned against the counter and asked, “What’s your favourite colour?”

Louis frowned a her, taken aback. “Blue, like it has been for about eight years.”

“And what’s your favourite thing to eat?” she asked next.

“Your homemade lasagne and cheesy garlic bread,” Louis answered. “Or the egg rolls from the place on seventh street.”

“Least favourite movie of all time?”

“Valentine’s Day. That movie was a waste of two hours of my life that I’ll never get back.”

“See?” His mum asked, turning to his father. “I personally don’t see any difference between this boy in front of me and the one who sat with us on Christmas, except this one perhaps smiles a little bit wider. Now, are we going to have dinner or are we going to continue to make our guest extremely uncomfortable?”

His father looked between the three of them before pushing away from the table with a short, “Excuse me.”

A moment later the front door opened and then slammed closed, and Louis could hear the sound of his dad’s car pulling away from the house, though he didn’t bother to turn to watch it drive away. He felt too cold to move. Too frozen to even think. He knew this would happen. He knew it, and yet he thought that maybe it would be okay. Maybe this would be okay. Maybe _he_ would be okay, but he obviously wasn’t, not in his dads eyes. He was wrong, and he didn’t know how to deal with that. He couldn’t deal with that.

“Your father,” his mother said suddenly, making Louis lift his head, “is a very old fashioned man, Louis. But he loves you with his whole heart, and he’ll come to terms with this. But this is his problem, not yours, so I don’t want to see that look on your face. Do you understand me?”

“Understood,” Louis answered.

His mother smiled. “Good, now, Harry,” she said, turning to the boy in question. “What kind of dressing do you prefer on your salad, love?”

“Anything is fine,” Harry told her.

“Easy to please,” his mother chuckled. “I like him already.”

And that was it. His mother brought out the food, pushed in his father’s chair, and then continued on with the dinner the way she would have under normal circumstances. Harry was, of course, his perfect charming self. Louis had never met someone who was so skilled at wrapping adults around his finger. He was mildly impressed.

When they were done Harry asked if he wanted to go out somewhere, and Louis agreed mostly because he really didn’t want to be in the house anymore. On their way out his mum stopped him, though, and dragged him back into the house while Harry continued on to his car, giving them a moment alone.

“It’s a bit to wrap my head around,” his mother told him quietly. “But I want you to know that I love you no matter who you chose to love. Alright?”

“Alright,” Louis said and, because he couldn’t help it, he hugged her tightly. Despite the fact that she was rarely around, and that their relationship wasn’t what it was like when he was younger and she was always there, she was still his mum, and she would never be able to understand how much that meant to him. “Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetie,” she said. “Now you might want to go. Your friend-- your _boy_ friend is going to wake the neighbours with that impossibly loud music.”

Louis grinned. “I’ll see you later,” he said on his way out the door.

When he got in the car he turned the music down himself, which Harry only looked slightly annoyed about. “Things are good, then?” Harry asked.

Louis shrugged. “Not with my dad but--,” he sucked in a breath, “yeah, things are good. Things are really, really good, actually. I just-- feel better, you know? Obviously that could have gone a lot better, and my dad is sort of an asshole, but… I got it over with, and I’m happy that I did.”

“And I’m happy for you,” Harry replied honestly.

Louis had to lean forward and kiss him, so he did just that. “And I love you.”

Harry pulled back and smiled at him. “Are you getting all mushy and loving on me, Lou?”

“Definitely not,” Louis said, eyes narrowing. “Shut up and drive, Harry.”

\--

His father didn’t come home that night, or the next. Or the night after that. His mum told him not to worry about it, but it was sort of hard not to let that twist his gut and make him sick as he crawled into bed every night, aware of the fact that his mother was alone because of _him_.

And then a month passed, and Louis told himself he couldn’t let it effect him anymore. He had a life to live, and he couldn’t spend all his time focusing on something that he could never change. He had Harry, and the play, to act as a distraction anyways. The closer they got to the first show (which would be in the first week on June), the more stressed out Louis got. People were going to actually sit and watch this. People were going to actually witness his play come to life. And Louis possibly hated the play at this point. Absolutely, completely hated it.

“It’s shit,” he said flatly to Harry as he drove him to the dress rehearsal. He invited Harry to come watch, mostly so Harry could agree and tell him what he already knows: that the play he wrote was completely fucking horrible.

“It is not,” Harry argued, rolling his eyes. “I already read it, remember?”

Louis made a face at him. “Whatever. It’s shit but you won’t say that to me because you’re hoping to get a blowjob in the parking lot afterwards.”

“I didn’t even know that was on the table,” Harry said, putting a hand on his thigh. “It’ll be brilliant and you know it, Louis. Stop freaking out, okay?”

“You’re _definitely_ just saying that in hopes of getting a blowjob.”

“Maybe,” Harry said with a wink and a squeeze of Louis’ thigh. “Just go into tonight with an open mind, and if it’s completely horrible we’ll run away to Canada and change our names and no one will ever know that you wrote it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Harry said solemnly. “And then you can give me a Canadian blowjob.”

Louis frowned at him. “Is that a thing? Like French kissing? Canadian blowjobs.”

Harry shook his head incredulously. “I honestly don’t know what I see in you sometimes.”

“Mutual,” Louis said right back.

Harry held his hand as they headed inside the school towards the auditorium. Louis hated being at school after hours. It was quiet and deserted and weird, and walking hand in hand with Harry only made it feel like the world had ended and they were the only two left. Obviously he needed to stop watching The Walking Dead before bed.

In the auditorium he could see everyone moving around on stage. The director was yelling at the female lead, and the guy Louis had cast for James, Alex, was laying down on the floor, flat on his back, sighing loudly every few minutes as everyone else moved around him.

“Is it supposed to be this dysfunctional?” Harry whispered as Louis led him down towards the seats near the front.

Louis glared at him. “No. It’s not.”

“Oh,” Harry said quietly. He squeezed Louis’ hand. “It’ll be fine.”

“It’s going to be horrible,” Louis grumbled as they sunk down into the soft seats of the auditorium. They’d remodelled it three years ago and it had cost a seriously large amount of money. It was pretty worth it, though, because the seats were really fucking comfortable.

Eventually they sorted everything out on stage, and then they started going through the run through. “Alex is practically the only one off book,” Louis hissed to Harry. “Opening night is in less than a week.”

“Honestly, Louis,” Harry said, rolling his eyes, “relax.”

“I’ll relax when this whole thing is over,” Louis replied dramatically. “Until then I will spend the next week doing nothing but worrying and freaking out and possibly murdering Karen if she doesn’t get her _fucking_ lines memorized, do you hear me?!”

The girl in question paused in the middle of her line to flip him off. It wasn’t that bad though, Louis decided when it was over. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t great. But it wasn’t the complete train wreck that he thought it would be.

“I told you so.” Harry grinned as they drove away from the school. “And you say that you’re always right. I think you should hand that title over to me.”

“If you keep being so smug you’re not getting a Canadian blowjob,” Louis threatened. Harry only grinned wider.

\--

If he thought he was freaking out before, it was nothing to how stressed he was on opening night. He had to wear a suit because, at the end of the show, he would called on stage to take a bow. As if he wasn’t already completely stressed out of his wits. They actually wanted him to get on fucking stage after the performance. People would probably boo. He was definitely going to cry.

Louis honestly couldn’t even watch the performance. He sat backstage most of the time, only occasionally getting close enough to look out from behind the curtain to see who was out there. The auditorium was, of course, filled, because the world was a horrible place and everyone wanted to see him crash and burn.

He could see Eleanor in the second row, grinning brightly and dressed fairly nicely. She looked happy, he thought, and he was glad about that. Farther in the back he thought he could pick out the yellow blouse his mum had worn, but he wasn’t too sure. It’s too far away. And in the very front row was Harry, dressed in a simple pair of black dress pants and a button up white shirt, a breathtakingly proud grin on his face every time Louis got a chance to look at him. Liam was beside him on his left, Niall on his right, and Zayn was on Liam’s left, though Zayn had his head ducked and was whispering to Liam every time Louis looked out at them. He was definitely going to yell at Zayn for that, even if the two of them did look kind of adorable.

Louis was staring blankly at the wall, ignoring everyone else around him when the sound of applause had him coming back to focus. The applause continued, deafeningly loud, and then someone was pulling him out of his seat and pushing him towards the curtain.

“And another round of applause for the extremely talented student that wrote the wonderful piece you just watched,” someone said through a microphone, “Louis Tomlinson!”

The same person who’d pulled him out of his chair pushed him onto stage, and then everything after that was a blur of far too bright lights and people clapping and a few whistles and whoops. Louis forced himself to just focus on Harry’s impossibly bright grin and breathe until it was over.

Afterwards, when the applause died down and everyone was ushered offstage, the cast stayed in the room behind the stage, celebrating and taking a collective sigh of relief. Several people slapped him on the back, but Louis didn’t really hear anything they said. He was too busy watching the door, waiting for his family to come through. And they did a moment later, Harry hurrying towards him instantly, Liam and Zayn walking more leisurely in his direction, hand in hand. Niall was distracted by the snack table that provided refreshments for everyone involved in the production.

“Told you,” Harry said, grabbing him by the front of the shirt. “It was fucking wonderful, and you looked incredibly fucking sexy taking that bow on stage.”

“I sort of can’t breathe,” Louis admitted with difficulty.

Harry nodded and rubbed his back before leaning in for a kiss that seemed to both take his breath away and breathe life back into him. Louis tangled his hands in Harry’s hair, almost tugging at it as he pushed his tongue against the seam of Harry’s mouth, needing more. He didn’t care that they were surrounded by other people; he just needed his boyfriend. And Harry gave him what he wanted, tongue pushing back insistently against Louis’ until someone coughed loudly from beside them.

Louis pulled back, eyes wide, as his mum said, “Congratulations, sweetheart,” and his dad said, “I’m very proud of you.”

Louis gaped at his father, taking a careful step away from Harry, more than a little aware of the fact that his lips were slick from Harry’s tongue as much as his own. “You’re here,” he squeaked out. Louis coughed to clear his throat and repeated, “You’re here.”

His father nodded and then awkwardly reached out to pat his back, but he pulled his hand back at the last moment. “I wouldn’t miss this,” he said. “I realize that I may not have reacted to-- that night in the best way, and I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” Harry said, cutting in. Louis almost wanted to slap a hand over his mouth, but he didn’t. “Your son is one of the best people I’ve ever met. People should be fighting for a chance to be in his life, no walking out of it because they can’t handle who he is.”

“Harry,” Louis said very quietly. “Don’t.”

“No, he’s right,” Louis’ father said. He sighed loudly and then pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed Harry a few bills. “Take him out to celebrate tonight. He deserves it.”

“He definitely does,” Harry agreed, taking the money without question. “I’ll give you guys a few moments to talk.”

“No,” Louis said quickly, grabbing Harry’s hand. “No, we can talk tomorrow at home. For now I just want to go out with my friends.”

His father nodded and then his mum said, “We’ll see you when you get home.”

Louis smiled at them as they left, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. That had actually just happened. That-- how had that even just happened?

“Congratulations.” Liam’s voice cut through his thoughts, reminding him of where he was. “It was brilliant Louis.”

Zayn nodded. “Brilliant.”

Louis snorted. “Really, Zayn? Did you actually watch any of it? I’m pretty sure you spent the last two hours staring at Liam.”

Zayn shrugged. “I’m a good multitasker.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“That too,” Zayn agreed. “So are we going out and getting drunk or not?”

Harry held up the money from Louis’ dad. “Fully funded, too, thanks to Louis’ dad.”

Zayn raised his eyebrows. “So he’s back, then?”

Louis shrugged. “Apparently, but I don’t really care about that right now. Let’s just grab Horan and get out of here.”

“I’ll get him,” Liam said, tugging Zayn towards the snack table.

When they were gone Harry leaned in and, quietly, close enough that Louis could feel his breath, whispered in Louis’ ear, “So I guess this means I won’t be getting my Canadian blowjob?”

Louis pushed him away with a laugh and a fond look because, really, at this very moment, he couldn’t be happier.

 

* * *

 

**Niall**

Niall’s acceptance letter to Durnham came first. Harry’s mum was waiting at home with it one day after school, nervously running her hands through her hair as she and Harry waited for him to open it. And then he’d called Gemma and she’d literally dropped the phone for a good twenty seconds when she let out a loud, piercing noise on the other end.

Harry’s mum insisted on taking them out for dinner to celebrate, and though Niall had told her they didn’t need to make a big deal of it, he stopped protesting after the third time she offered, and it was just really nice. And afterwards, when he got home and settled into his room, he called his mum and told her, too. She cried a bit, telling him repeatedly that she was going to miss him so much.

After that the acceptance letters started pouring in. Liam got into both the schools he’d applied to, the one his dad wanted him to go to and the one he wanted to go to. Harry got accepted to three of the four schools he’d applied to, including the one that had the sound and music production class he wanted to take that was only two hours away from home. He heard from Harry that Louis got into both of the places he’d applied to but, like Liam, he was torn between going where he wanted and doing what his parents had planned for him.

Niall was both excited and a bit afraid of the prospect of actually going off to Uni. He was going to miss school with Liam and Harry. He was going to miss being minutes away from everyone he cared about (Gemma aside, because when he goes off to University it will be the exact opposite to how it is now, and she’ll be right there but everyone else will be so far away), and he was not sure if he was completely ready to fully grow up. It was like going off to University was that last step before adulthood.

At least he still had the last few weeks of school as well as all of the summer to prepare for it. And Harry was keeping him mostly busy with plans for his upcoming graduation prank that Liam was more than a little wary about.

“I have it all planned out,” Harry assured him for the hundredth time. They were in Niall’s room, Niall and Harry on the bed with the laptop in front of them, Liam on the floor tossing a ball into the air and catching it. “There’s no way this could go wrong.”

Liam snorted. “Really? No way it could go wrong? I mean, really, how wrong could you possibly go with nine live chickens. Which, by the way, I’m sure is a form of animal cruelty.”

“None of them are going to get hurt,” Harry promised. “And sarcasm isn’t a good look on you, Liam.”

Niall continued to scroll through the google image page on the screen. He found another picture he thought would be good and saved it to the computer to be used later on. Harry nudged him in the ribs and whispered, “Watch, I guarantee I can get him on board in seconds.”

Niall doubted this. Liam had been trying to talk them out of the whole thing for the last couple days, but Harry was determined. Honestly, Niall thought the whole thing was pretty tame compared to what Harry could have possibly come up with. Harry was sort of insane sometimes.

“Hey, Li,” Harry said, stretching over the bed to run his hand over Liam’s short bristles of hair. “Can you call Zayn for me? I need someone who’s good at photoshop, and I swear Louis once mentioned to me that Zayn was good at digital art or some shit like that.”

Liam visibly perked up at those words. “He’s good at all art,” Liam said, grinning a fond, faraway grin.

Niall had been more than a little surprised by just how quickly Zayn and Liam had fallen into each other. It was different than the way he was with Gemma, or even how Harry and Louis were with each other. He and Gemma fit well together. Harry and Louis complimented each other. But Zayn and Liam were like two broken pieces that weren’t whole unless they were together, and while that still concerns Niall more than a little, because there was so much opportunity for Liam to get severely hurt, even he couldn’t deny that Zayn was just as desperately in love with Liam as Liam was with him.

“Good, so call him,” Harry said. “Unless you still think this is a bad idea and you want no part in it.”

“It is a bad idea,” Liam said while digging out his phone. “But I’ll see if he can help.”

Harry grinned and moved back up the bed beside Niall. “See?” Harry said while Liam started chatting with Zayn. “Mention Quiffy’s name and he’s like putty in my hands. It’s a bit disgusting.”

Niall raised his eyebrows. “Bit hypocritical, don’t you think? I remember the other day when Louis drove us to the store that you said he even parallel parked in a hot way.”

“He does,” Harry replied unconcernedly. “Now back to work. Save that picture of the naked guy with the hula-hoop.”

“You realize there’s going to be children there, right?” Niall reminded him while saving the picture.

“So we’ll get Zayn to blur out his dick,” Harry said, waving him off. “And get that one of the cat in the Superman costume.”

They had nearly thirty pictures by the time Liam got off the phone with Zayn, who agreed to help them on the condition that Liam spent graduation night with him, apparently. And Liam had agreed while blushing furiously and grinning so widely it looked almost uncomfortable.

With Zayn’s help they got part one of the three part plan finished. The next part would be getting the DVD to Mark who was running the slideshow at the graduation (he apparently owed Harry a favour, which was the only reason he’d agreed to do it), and then the last part included Louis and more live chickens than Niall had ever seen in his life.

Liam was having second thoughts on the day of graduation, though. They were all in suits (this time Niall’s was one that actually fit him properly that he’d rented from the store downtown), Niall in a simple black one with a white shirt and a thin black tie; Harry in a similar suit but with a black and white polka dotted bowtie that Niall had laughed at when he’d put it on; Liam’s suit literally identical to Harry’s, except he was wearing a red tie with it. They were at Harry’s, taking pictures, and Liam was fidgeting and nervously running his hands over his short hair.

“It’s just-- what if they don’t manage to round them all up?” Liam blurted without warning.

Harry rolled his eyes as his mum adjusted his bowtie to take another picture of the three of them. “Don’t worry, they’ll be fine.”

“Who’ll be fine?” Harry’s mum asked distractedly.

“The chickens,” Harry answered.

Anne’s eyes went wide and then she shook her head slowly. “Harry Edward Styles, you better be kidding me, or so help me God I will--,”

“Don’t worry,” Harry said quickly. “It can’t be traced back to us. I made sure. And what are they going to do? Expel us? I’m not giving Louis the go ahead until after we’ve all got diplomas in our hands.”

Anne’s eyes narrowed but she looked like she was struggling to find a good reason why they shouldn’t do it. Finally she sighed and said, “My mother warned me that drinking a pot of coffee a day while pregnant with you would have it’s consequences.”

Niall and Liam sniggered while Harry made an offended face. A car honked out front before he could say anything, though.

“That would be Louis and Zayn,” Anne said while still giving Harry a disapproving look. “If you’re not coming home tonight I want a phone call from both of you.”

“Promise,” Harry said immediately.

Anne turned to Niall. “Promise,” Niall added.

“Okay, then I’ll see you three at the school,” she said, pushing them towards the door.

Niall followed Liam and Harry out of the house. Niall was getting a ride with Liam and Zayn, since Louis and Harry had some last minute chicken things to deal with, and therefore Harry was going to be a bit late. But when they got out front Louis’ car wasn’t the only one parked in front of the house. There was another car, one that he recognized quite well because the first time he’d kissed Gemma she’d been leaning against the car the same way she was right now.

“You said you couldn’t make it,” Niall said, moving quickly across the lawn to get to her.

Gemma was wearing a simple black dress that fell jus above her knees, and a smile that was far more beautiful than anything she could have bought in a store. “So my brother didn’t ruin the surprise this time, then,” she guessed, pushing away from the car.

Niall couldn’t do much more than gape at her and pull her in for a kiss that had Harry punching him on the shoulder on his way to Louis’ car. Louis tossed something at him, too, but Niall caught it at the last second, fingers curling around the keys.

“What’s this?” Niall asked, holding them up.

“A gift from my mother to me that I’m not going to need,” Louis explained with a shrug. “I’ve already called the hotel. Harry and I are sneaking out to see a concert in London tomorrow. You’ve got the room until Sunday. Try not to break the flat screen TV, my mum would kill me.”

Niall shook his head incredulously. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“I’ve been told once or twice,” Louis admitted. “See you after the running of the chickens.”

“The what?” Gemma asked, pulling his attention back to her.

Niall shook his head again. “You’ll see later.”

Gemma shrugged, uncaring, and tugged the keys out of Niall’s hands. “A whole weekend,” she said, frowning down at the keys. “Alone in a hotel room.”

“Only if you want to,” Niall said quickly.

Gemma snorted and brushed a hand over his cheek. “Hm, I don’t know,” she said considering. “We’ll have to see after the running of the chickens, whatever that means.”

Niall kissed her again. “Don’t worry about it,” he said against her lips. “It’s nothing that could get us arrested.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Niall couldn’t stop looking at her on the whole ride to the school, and he couldn’t help but realize that -- in a few months-- he’d see those eyes every day, kiss those lips every day, hold her soft hands and run his own through her hair every day. And he couldn’t wait, even if the rest of the future seemed impossible and a brit overwhelming, that part of it would make up for everything else.

When they got to the school Niall had to say goodbye to Gemma for a bit. All of the graduating students were supposed to meet in the room behind the stage to get into their gowns and caps and to make sure that everyone was ready for the ceremony. Liam had to lie to their English teacher and tell him that Harry was just in the bathroom, he’d be there soon enough.

Niall figured that Gemma would be one of the first people in the auditorium, his mum and Harry’s both not coming for another fifteen minutes or so. But she was with Zayn (and the two of them got along weirdly well, which Niall still didn’t get) so she’d be fine.

“Alright, everyone in their places!” Mr. Corbin shouted, and Liam definitely looked ready to panic now.

“Where is he?” Liam hissed, giving Niall a wide eyed look.

Niall’s eyes swept over the room, but Harry was definitely nowhere to be seen. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He should he here by now.”

“What if something--,”

“Nothing happened to him,” he promised Liam. “This is Harry we’re talking about. That insane fucker’ll be here.”

Liam rubbed a hand over his face “He better be,” Liam said darkly.

Just as everyone was getting sorted into a long line, Harry ran into the room, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, breathing heavily. Mr. Corbin sighed and said, “I don’t even want to know. Just get in your gown, Harry.”

Harry saluted him and pulled on his gown and cap.

Slowly they were all called on stage to accept their diplomas, any and all awards announced as the student receiving them walked on stage. Harry didn’t get one, and neither did Niall. The fact that either of them graduated after what happened earlier in the year was good enough for them anyways. Liam, on the other hand, won an athletic award, though that was as expected as Niall and Harry not getting one at all.

The way the ceremony was supposed to go was simple: first the students would all get their diplomas, and then when they were all onstage there was to be a big slideshow that featured each of the student’s graduation photo, as well as a horde of photos that were taken by the school throughout the year, like the one of Liam and his team mates after their final win of the season. And then after that there would be a reception in the cafeteria with cake and quiet music, where the students could all say goodbye to each other and their teachers, and the parents could all brag about their kids getting into the best Universities.

Except that wasn’t what happened when the slideshow started up. It seemed to start normally, but then between the graduation photos the ones that Zayn had photoshopped started appearing. First there was the one of their principal’s face plastered onto the body of a an alpaca. Next was their gym teacher’s face on the naked hula-hooping man.

People started laughing, and their principal started panicking. “What is going on?” Miss Talbot demanded shrilly. Out of the corner of his eye Niall could see Harry quickly texting under his gown.

Before the slideshow could get turned off, a horde of chickens suddenly ran on stage, squawking and ruffling their feathers. A few jumped off stage, into the crowd, and several people shrieked while everyone else kept laughing. Each chicken had a collar around it’s neck with a number between one and ten, though they’d skipped the number seven (“ _That way they’ll keep looking for the seventh chicken, but they’ll never find it,” Harry had explained_.).

“Chickens?” Miss Talbot shrieked. “Who-- what--?!”

After that the ceremony was a chaotic mess. It was decided that the reception would start early, and that everyone was to exit the room single file, lest one of the rogue chickens manage to escape. And Niall and Harry and Liam were laughing so hard their faces were red and Liam had tears running down his cheeks.

“ _Chickens_ ,” Liam said as all of the students were moving through the room they’d entered the stage from. “ _Chickens_?!”

“That is scary,” Niall told him, shuddering. “You sound just like her.”

“Told you it’d be great,” Harry added. “And you all doubted me.”

“I never doubted you,” Niall pointed out.

Harry threw an arm over his shoulder. “That’s why you’re my best mate and Liam’s been demoted to second best.”

They all stripped off their gowns and headed for the cafeteria, everyone in the hallway around them talking about their prank. When they got inside the cafeteria, though, Harry’s mum cornered all of them and poked Harry hard in the chest.

“You little shit,” she breathed, eyes narrowed, cheeks red. “Where did you get ten live chickens from?”

“Louis knows a guy,” Harry answered, shrugging.

Anne opened her mouth to say something but then snapped it shut instead. “You know what? I don’t even care. As long as they’re not coming home with you, I’d really rather stay out of this whole thing.”

After that the three of them broke off. Harry went to find Louis, Liam found Zayn and tugged him off to chat with his own parents and a few of his teachers. Niall looked around, trying to find his mum because he’d seen her in the crowd earlier.

“You look so hot in that suit,” a voice whispered in his ear.

Niall turned and grabbed Gemma’s waist. “Did you see what we did?”

“Kind of hard to miss ten chickens running across the stage, and that photoshopped picture of your teacher on a naked man with a hula-hoop,” Gemma pointed out. “I’m fairly impressed, actually. I didn’t know what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t that.”

Niall smiled at her before spotting a familiar head of hair. “Come on,” Niall said, taking her hand. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Okay,” Gemma said easily. She allowed him to move her through groups of people, past other students in suits or dresses, most of them searching the crowd for someone.

“Mum,” Niall said, tapping her shoulder. She turned and quickly wrapped him in a hug, one that he had to release Gemma to return.

“I’m so proud of you,” she told him, cupping his face. “So, so incredibly proud.”

“Thanks,” Niall said awkwardly, pulling back. “I wanted to introduce you to someone.”

His mum frowned and turned her attention to Gemma, who was smiling politely. “So _you’re_ the girl I’ve heard all about. You’ve got my son quite infatuated with you.”

Niall knows for a fact that he’d barely told his mum about Gemma, but then he’s not really upset at all with her exaggeration because Gemma is beaming at her. “Has he, now?”

“Oh, yes,” his mum said. “You’ll keep an eye on him when he’s gone?”

“I definitely will,” Gemma promised, her hand finding Niall’s again. “Keeping my eyes on this one is one of my favourite things to do.”

Niall’s mum laughed and then Harry and Louis and Anne came over, only to be followed by Zayn and Liam a few moments later. Niall had Gemma on one side, and Harry and his mum on the other, with Liam and Zayn and Anne in front of him, and Louis’ hand on his ass (or he was pretty sure it was Louis’, but it could be Harry’s). He couldn’t remember a time where he’d felt more warm and surrounded by people he loved in his entire life.

“We should get out of here,” Gemma said a while later. “John’s just found Harry, and I want to go before he tries to talk to me.”

Niall could see Harry looking only slightly annoyed as John talked him and Anne, and he had a feeling that the only reason he didn’t look fully irritated was because of Louis’ hand in his.

“Okay,” Niall agreed. “Back home or to the hotel?”

Gemma smirked at him. “Where ever you want me, baby.”

Niall laughed. “You’re a classy chick. I like that.”

“The sarcasm in your voice is seriously making me rethink my decision to have sex with you,” Gemma informed him as they headed through the crowd.

Niall groaned and said, “You can’t just say things like ‘I’ve decided to have sex with you’ in public. Christ.”

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want to?”

Niall stopped in his step and pulled her to him. “I definitely want to,” he told her, kissing her lips softly. She smiled against him and he decided that there would never, in his entire life, be a moment where he’d regret her spilling her coffee on him that day at the coffee shop so many months ago. It was definitely worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter took a lot longer than I'd intended, but I hope the length makes up for it. Also the next chapter will be the last (though I had originally intended to end the fic after this chapter, I still have parts of Zayn's storyline that I need to resolve, and I definitely want to do that properly before this ends, so that will be happening next chapter. :) Hope you enjoyed. :) -- C


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is just sort of fluffy and insubstantial for the most part. The only reason it really exists is because I needed to give Zayn a happily ever after as well, or else I would have just ended the whole thing last chapter. Anyways. Here it is, the end:

 

**Liam**

Liam laid flat on Zayn’s floor, head in Zayn’s lap, as the cool summer air drifted through the open window. It rained yesterday, but today the sky was a clear, blinding blue, and the sunlight that filtered in through the open window warmed his bare legs almost as much as Zayn’s hand on his chest did.

“Babe,” Zayn said softly.

Liam blinked open his eyes and frowned up at him. “Why did you stop reading?”

“Thought you fell asleep,” Zayn admitted, putting the book down. He ran his hands over Liam’s hair, which was already longer than he thought it would be. He doesn’t think he’ll grow it out again, like it had been before, though. It was cooler shorter. Kept his hair from getting all sweaty during his runs.

Liam yawned and pushes himself up a bit. “I wasn’t,” he promised. “Just enjoying the moment.”

Zayn grinned and ducked his head to press a kiss to Liam’s temples. The thing about Zayn that surprised Liam the most was how affectionate he was, once Liam was let it. It was like, now that he’d allowed himself to, he refused to stop touching Liam whenever the opportunity arose. If they were out in public, Zayn’s hand was possessively on his back, or in his own, or there was an arm slung around his shoulder. He was fairly jealous, too, glaring daggers at anyone who looked at Liam in a way that was even hinting at suggestive. And there was a part of Liam that wondered if he should be a bit annoyed at this, but he really wasn’t, to be fully honest. He sort of loved it, and he sort of did the exact same thing right back.

“I’ve been thinking,” Zayn said suddenly, and Liam took that as his cue to sit all the way up. There was something in Zayn’s voice that required eye contact. “About that school you talked to me about.”

Liam couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face at that. “Really?”

Zayn nodded. “But there’s an issue,” he said quietly. “I need certain pieces of my I.D., and I don’t have them. I could reapply for them, but by the time they came in I’d of missed the sign up time and I’d have to wait until next semester, which means another year before I can come join you at whatever University you’ve decided on.”

Liam chewed his lip, dropping his eyes. It felt like all he talked about for the last two months was school. Not so much with Zayn, but it still came up quite often, even with him. The issue was that Liam didn’t want to go to the school his dad chose for him. And he only had until the end of the month to chose. His father seemed to think that it was already decided; there was a small article in the paper the week of his graduation, stating that Liam was going to the school he’d picked out, and that he was apparently the most promising athlete to come from their town in over fifteen years. But no pressure, right?

“So then what are we going to do?” Liam asked, pulling himself from his own thoughts because this, right now, was about Zayn; not him.

Zayn sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. The new tattoo on his arm was still a bit red, and Liam had to resist the urge to run his fingers over it. “My mum has them,” he said softly. “I know she does.”

Liam’s eyes widened, just a bit, but he quickly schooled his features back into something less surprised. “Do you-- do you want to try asking her for them?”

Zayn tilted his head back against the couch and groaned. His eyes closed, but Liam could still see the frustrated tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks, and it made his heart hurt so much for Zayn.

Liam brushed a hand over his cheek and then traced his mouth with one of his fingers, and then the stubble on his jaw, and then the place where his eyelashes feathered over his cheeks. “You could just wait,” Liam reasoned. “What’s an extra year?”

Zayn snorted and opened his eyes. They were red rimmed but the tears were gone. “I don’t want to spend a day without you, let alone another year. I might literally go insane.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re clingy?” Liam asked, smiling.

Zayn wrapped his arms around Liam’s middle and pulled him close. Close enough that the smell of his cologne and smoke and the sweet scent of the strawberries they’d eaten earlier enveloped him in the best possible way. “Not clingy,” Zayn denied. “I just like to hold on close to people I love because they might not always be there.”

Liam kissed his cheek. “I will be,” he promised. “Always be here, as long as you want me.” And he knew that wasn’t exactly a smart thing to promise, because he was eighteen years old, for Christ sake. This was a teenage relationship, and as much as he loved Zayn, he wasn’t the first teenager to think that their love was going to last forever, and they usually never did. Except he couldn’t see himself ever not wanting to be right there, Zayn’s arms around him.

“I’m clingy and you’re cheesy as shit,” Zayn stated, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“I thought you said you weren’t clingy,” Liam pointed out.

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, I’m clingy. I’m like a fucking koala bear and you’re a eucalyptus tree.”

“So then what are we going to do about your I.D.?” Liam asked quietly, head ducked into the crook of Zayn’s neck.

Zayn stroked his hair for a few minutes, and Liam let him sort through his thoughts without interrupting. “We’re going to go ask her for it,” he said finally. “Doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

“Right,” Liam agreed.

Zayn grunted and continued to stroke his hands through Liam’s hair. “What about you, though? If you don’t decide soon, you won’t even have a school to go to at the end of the summer.”

Liam pushed away from him, moving so he could lean against the couch, too. “I just--,” Liam cut himself off and ran a hand over his face. “I just know that he’s going to be pissed, right? But if I go to the school he wants me to, all I’ll do is play. That’s it. There’s a requirement of time I’d have to be on the field each week, and if I didn’t meet it I’d lose my scholarship.” Liam paused. “The thing is, five years from now I might decide that I seriously hate rugby. Or I could get hurt. My whole athletic career could be ruined by one bad injury, and then what do I have to fall back on? Nothing. If I go to my dad’s school, rugby will literally be my only option for the rest of my life.”

Zayn frowned at him for a long moment before asking, “If you decided that you never wanted to play again, what would you do instead?”

Liam stared at him for a moment, lips parted. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “No one’s ever asked me that.”

Zayn grinned and grabbed his shoulders, and then suddenly Liam was on the ground, facing the ceiling, Zayn on top of him. “I’m asking you now,” Zayn said cheerfully. “The whole world filled with opportunities in front of you; what else would you do, Liam?”

“I-- firefighter,” Liam said, naming the first thing he could think of. “Doctor. Vet. Something that mattered.”

Zayn shook his head. “Don’t give me that saving the world bullshit,” he scolded. “It doesn’t have to change anyone’s lives to matter. Like-- if rugby matters to you, then it matters. That’s it. What do _you_ want to do?”

“I do want to play rugby,” Liam said quietly. “I mean, I might have been pushed into it my whole life, but I’m not one of those kids that hated the sport they were told to play. I love it. I’m _good_ at it.”

“But?”

“I’d rather coach than play,” Liam told him. “I love the game, I really do, and I don’t want to stop playing. But I want it to be fun again, you know? I don’t want the whole thing to rely on me. I want to be able to teach other people to play like I do. I want to teach them to enjoy it the way that I don’t really get to anymore.”

“So then do it,” Zayn said with a shrug. “Play for the school team. Take a few other courses, whatever you want. Play professionally until you’re bored with it, bank up a shitload of money, and then retire and coach at whatever school I teach English at.”

“That easy,” Liam said. “Just do it.”

“Just do it.”

“And you’re serious about trying to get your teaching degree?”

Zayn sat up a bit and smiled. “I’m not going to _try._  I’m going to do it.”

Liam couldn’t help it; he tugged Zayn back down on top of him and then rolled them over easily, trapping Zayn beneath him. “I’d have to threaten to kick my players off the team if they didn’t pay attention and pass your class.”

“Wouldn’t be my fault. Apparently rugby players have an aversion to Shakespeare,” Zayn teased. “And you’d make us sandwiches in the morning and we’d eat them together in the teacher’s lounge.”

“And all your female students would be in love with you.”

“And I’d take my class outside every once in a while to teach out on the field, but really I’d just be looking for an excuse to watch you running around all sweaty.”

“I’d probably get my own office,” Liam mused. “You could sneak in after a game and we’d makeout on the desk.”

“Babe, we’d be fucking on the desk,” Zayn corrected.

Liam leaned down to kiss him, long and slow, just because he could. “Are you serious, though?” he asked hesitantly. “I mean, about -- about this not ending any time soon. About us maybe really, like, being together. In the long run.”

Zayn looked up at him with a serious expression on his face. “I’m not going to say that we’ll be together forever,” Zayn told him. “We’re eighteen, Liam. But-- yeah. When I think of any future, Louis’ always been in it. Since I was, like, ten. But-- you’re in it now, too. You’re always in it.”

“Okay,” Liam said quietly. “So we’ll do it, then. You’ll go to this new school, graduate, get a teaching degree. I’ll tell my dad I’m not going to his school. That I want to make sure I have something to fall back on if I decide I don’t want to play anymore. And we’ll-- we’ll just figure this out as we go along.”

“First we’ve got to convince my mum to hand over my I.D.,” Zayn reminded him.

“And we will,” Liam said seriously. “Together. I’ll be right there with you.”

“Yeah, alright.” Zayn nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Zayn snorted and kissed him again.

 

* * *

 

**Niall**

He always loved summer. There was something about the endless amounts of time to spend doing absolutely nothing that really, really appealed to him. This summer was no different, but that was mostly because Gemma was home from school, and that fact made it infinitely better than previous summers.

Anne knew about them. Had since they got home from the beach. And while she’d been shocked at first, and then sceptical, she’d warmed to the idea in a way that Harry never had. She constantly made sure that they slept in separate rooms when Gemma was home, but aside from that, everything mostly stayed the same.

“And you’ll both be back for Christmas, then,” Anne said as the five of them (including Geoff, who Gemma hated with a passion, and Harry only kind of disliked) ate breakfast. “There’s really no point for you and your mum to spend the holidays with just the two of you, right? So you two will just come stay here, your mum included.”

Gemma squeezed his leg under the table and Niall grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of anything else. Holidays in this house are too crazy to miss.”

“This year was calm,” Harry said, pointing his fork at Niall. “I’m old enough to legally drink now. She can’t cut me off after half a bottle of wine. I plan to get spectacularly wasted.”

“How is that different from any other year?” Gemma asked him sweetly. “I still have pictures of you throwing up in the tree.”

Harry gaped at her. “You promised you deleted all those,” he said, horrified. “Mum!”

“Gemma,” Anne scolded.

“I’ll show you them later,” Gemma whispered to him. “Got them all on my laptop. I figure that you can never have enough dirt on you family members. When Harry’s forty and out of a job with nowhere to live, and he decides to crash on our couch, I’ll just blackmail him into getting off his lazy ass.”

“I’m glad that we all mutually agree on where I’ll be in twenty years,” Harry said, unaffected.

Niall snorted a laugh and took a sip of his orange juice, just as Gemma checked her watch. “We should head out soon,” she said, dropping her fork onto her plate. “Your interview is at what time?”

“Half past eleven,” Niall answered immediately.

His boss had kept to his word, and he’d set up an interview for Niall at a place in Dunwall. It wasn’t a sure thing, but it was pretty set in stone as long as he didn’t totally fuck up the interview. And his hours would be good enough to handle even on top of his classes and schoolwork, plus the money he’d make would be enough to get him by. He still wasn’t sure if he was going to live in the dorms at school (he had until the first of August to fill out his rooming registration) or if he was going try to find a cheap enough flat for himself. He could afford one, if he got a roommate.

“Are you going to be back for dinner?” Anne asked.

Gemma shook her head. “No, I have a few things planned that are going to run a bit late. We probably won’t be home until about eight or nine.”

“Drive save, then,” Anne told her.

“Always do,” Gemma promised.

Niall pushed away from the table, clearing his dishes as he went. By the time he was dressed and ready to go, Gemma was already waiting in the car, more than a little impatient. That was something he learned about her quite quickly; when Gemma wanted to do something, she wanted to do it _right then._  There was no waiting. There was either doing, or not doing.

“How long do you think your interview is going to be?” Gemma asked as they drove.

Niall shrugged. “Twenty minutes, maybe? My boss already spoke to the guy for me. He’s pretty much just making sure I’m not completely useless or unmanageable.”

“Oh,” Gemma said softly, giving him a sympathetic look. “We might as well just head back home now, then, because, I hate to break it to you babe, you’re pretty useless and unmanageable.”

Niall raised his eyebrows. “You weren’t saying that last night at two in the morning when you were shouting your head off at that damn moth in your room.”

Gemma glared at him. “That’s not funny. Spiders, I can deal with. Moths, on the other hand, are what happens when demons and butterflies mate.” Niall shook his head at her, amused. “But I have something we need to do at two, and then I figured we’d get something to eat and then go watch a movie afterwards.”

“Sounds good,” Niall said easily.

Gemma nodded tightly, and he noticed a slightly nervous set to her mouth. When he asked about it, though, she just said it was nothing.

\--

His interview went as perfect as possible. His boss was really laid back, and as long as Niall didn’t mind doing midnight shifts (the store only closed at four until eight in the morning, left open late for any students attending the University that needed coffee and greasy chips in the middle of the night), which he definitely didn’t, he could have the job. He’d be starting as soon as the school year started up, his first shift just after his last class on Tuesday.

“Where to now, then?” Niall asked, sliding into the car.

“Just this place,” Gemma said vaguely, pulling away from Niall’s new workplace.

‘Just this place’ turned out to be an apartment building only a few streets down from the University. It wasn’t the nicest place ever, the front lawn scattered with more than a few beer cans, and the school crest hanging in one of the windows, music billowing out of another. It wasn’t bad, though. Definitely the kind of place Niall was thinking of checking out as an alternative to the dorms.

Gemma parked the car and dug around in her purse, producing a piece of paper with a name and number written on it. “Right,” she said, nodding to herself. “Come on. Apartment twelve. That’s on the third floor, I think.”

Niall followed her out of the car and then into the building. The music was louder in there, but nothing unbearable. Good tune, he thought. Something he had on the iPod in his pocket.

When they got to the third floor Gemma crossed the hall to apartment number twelve and knocked. Niall frowned at her, wondering what they were doing, but the door opened before he could ask.

The man on the other side must have been in his late forties, and Niall couldn’t help but think that he looked a little old to live in a building that was most likely inhabited by University students. He was wearing a business suit, too, and from what Niall could see of the apartment through the open door, it was completely empty.

“Gemma, right?” the man asked, opening the door wider.

“Yes, sir,” Gemma said brightly. “Hope we’re not early.”

“Just on time,” he said, gesturing for them to come in.

Gemma strode into the apartment, Niall hesitating a little. “It’s bigger than I expected,” Gemma said. “For the price of rent, I mean.”

The man chuckled. “Well, I’m trying to be reasonable, you know. University students aren’t exactly swimming in money, and that’s about the only type of people I’ve had call about this place.”

“Can I check out the bedroom?” Gemma asked him.

“Be my guest,” the man said.

Gemma grabbed Niall’s hand and pulled him through the apartment. It was nice sized. The music from the first floor couldn’t even be heard once the front door was closed, and the living room was spacious with a large window taking up most of the back wall. The kitchen was tiny but not impossibly so.

When they got into the bedroom, Gemma tugged the door closed behind them. “So,” she said, pushing a hand jerkily through her hair. “I know this is a little weird, and I totally went about it the wrong way, because I should have talked to you first, shown you the apartment second, but I sort of do everything backwards anyways, and I thought it was better like this so I could change my mind and you’d never have to know. But I didn’t change my mind, obviously, and--,”

Niall put his hands on her shoulders, quieting her. “Gem,” he said firmly. “Out with it.”

“Move in with me,” she blurted. “Here. We could afford it. It’s not the greatest, obviously, but it’s not too bad for our first apartment, and we’re really close to not just school, but to the place I’m interning at, and--,”

“I will.”

“--I know it’s soon and we’re a bit young to be moving in together, but-- wait, seriously?” she asked, her eyes widening.

“Seriously,” Niall said. “I wasn’t really looking forward to sharing a dorm room with someone I barely knew anyways.”

Gemma kissed him swiftly on the lips and then tugged open the bedroom door. “We love it,” she said to the man who Niall had obviously worked out was landlord. “And we’d love to have it.”

The man grinned at her. “Perfect. We’ve already done the credit check from when you first called, and as long as money is in order, it’ll be ready to move in on September first.”

Gemma grinned so widely her smile seemed to take up her whole face. Niall grinned right back, wondering if this was a bit to soon. They hadn’t even been together a year and they were planning on moving in together. But at the same time, he’d already experienced living with Gemma. It wasn’t like she would be a horrible roommate. And it wasn’t like he didn’t already want to spend every minute with her. So no, actually, it wasn’t too soon. It was great, really.

Plus, he’d saved up a bit of money from his months working, already one step ahead just in case he did decide to get a flat of his own. It wasn’t like money would be an issue, as long as rent wasn’t too high.

“Okay,” Niall said for the both of them. “Then we’ll take it.”

 

* * *

 

**Harry**

He was supposed to be meeting Louis. That was the only reason he was there. And Louis was supposed to be ready ten minutes ago, but there was always _something_ that was left until the last minute, meaning that Harry was stuck waiting for him. Again. He’d hate Louis if he didn’t, you know, love him.

Someone knocked on his window and he jumped, reaching for the volume on his radio instantly, turning down Daniel Powter’s _Bad Day_. When he turned to the window he expected one of Louis’ neighbours, complaining about his music. Instead he got his father.

Harry frowned and pushed the button to roll down the window. “What do you want?” he asked.

He hadn’t really spoken to his dad much lately. Not since the wedding, really. He hadn’t seen any point.

“Come inside for a minute,” John said, stepping back from the car.

Harry shook his head. “Can’t. I’m waiting for Louis.”

“Get out of the car, Harry,” John snapped.

Harry rolled his eyes but obeyed, shutting the car off and pocketing the keys before he exited the vehicle. He took one look at Louis’ house and hoped his boyfriend would realize where he’d went off to as he followed John towards his own house.

“Where’s Yvette?” Harry asked as the front door shut behind him.

“She’s out grocery shopping,” John said, heading for the kitchen. “We’re going to start eating only homemade meals. We’re all too dependant on takeaway.”

“Can either of you actually cook?” Harry asked, disbelieving.

“She’s taking culinary classes, actually,” John said while heading for the coffee pot. “Sit. I’ll be just a moment.”

Harry reluctantly sat down, trying to peer out the window, checking to see if he would notice when Louis left his house. He could see his car clearly, so he figured he’d be able to see Louis, too. “Is this going to take long?” Harry asked, pulling his eyes away from the window.

John sighed. “Are you always going to be this difficult?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. They say it’s teenage angst, but I think I’m actually just one of those tortured souls. The angst will probably continue long after my teenage year are over.”

“I don’t know where you got that attitude from,” John said while pouring coffee into two mugs. “Not from your mother, surely, and I--,”

“And you were only around long enough to supply the DNA, not to have any influence on my personality,” Harry offered.

John slammed down the coffee pot. Harry eyed it, wondering if the scolding hot bottom would leave black rings on the counter top. His mum always told him it would if he did that, and he had a feeling John’s counter cost a lot more than theirs had.

“I’m trying to have a civil conversation with you,” John snapped. “Do you enjoy being difficult, or do you just like hearing yourself speak?”

Harry bristled, eyes narrowing. “Both,” he said anyways. “I’ve been told I have a very soothing, relaxing voice.”

John shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a god damn little shit, you know that?” Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “You say that I didn’t have any influence on your personality, but you’re wrong about that one. I was the exact same way when I was your age. Far too smart mouthed for my own good.”

John picked up their coffees and brought them over to the table, placing one in front of Harry. He picked it up immediately, not caring that the drink was too hot, barely noticing the way it singed his tongue.

“You haven’t spoken to me since the wedding, you know,” John said conversationally, his own mug in his hand, though he hadn’t brought it to his lips yet.

Harry shrugged. “The miraculous thing about phones is that they work both ways.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” John admitted.

“Good thing you didn’t call, then.”

John dropped his cup onto the table and leaned forwards, elbows braced on the wooden surface. “Is it always going to be like this?” he asked. “Are you always going to hate me?”

Harry tugged at his shirt, uncomfortable. He didn’t want to have this conversation, he really didn’t.

“I know that I screwed up a lot,” John said softly, eyes on his own hands. “I screwed up so much for all of us. Not just you, but your mum, and your sister. And myself.”

Harry looked around the room. “Doesn’t looked like you screwed up for yourself all that much,” he pointed out. “How much did this place cost, exactly? And what is it that you do for a living?”

John waved him off. “That’s not the point. A house doesn’t matter. What matters is the fact that my son is sitting directly across from me, and he can barely look me in the eyes without a look of contempt on his face.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed dangerously more, and he placed his own cup on the table, too. “You don’t just get to do this,” Harry told him. “You don’t just get to decide how many chances I should give you. You can’t just walk away and abandon us all whenever you like, and then expect us to be waiting for you to get your shit together. I’m a fucking person, not a golden retriever. I’m not going to wag my tail and be grateful that you deemed me worthy enough to acknowledge again.”

John blinked at him, eyes wide. He leaned back in his chair, mouth opening and closing again with a snap, over and over, until he finally found the words he was looking for. “It was never about any of you being worthy,” he told Harry. “It was never about that. I’ve always loved you, and your sister, and your mum, too. But I was just a kid, Harry, you get that, right? I was seventeen years old when she got pregnant. I wasn’t ready for any of this. I thought I was. I thought I could deal with it. I thought I could handle raising a child and living in a shitty apartment. I thought I could handle throwing away my scholarship to a great school, throwing away a life that would get us all everything we’ve ever wanted. But then I just couldn’t do it. So I bailed out. I’m not proud of it, but you know what? I wouldn’t do it any differently.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Harry spat.

“No, I wouldn’t, and you know why? Because I love you, and I love your sister. And if I had stayed, I don’t think I could say that and have it be true. I’d of resented every one of you for the rest of my life, which would have been spent doing a job I hated, with impossible hours, still barley making enough money for all of us,” John admitted. “I’m not going to try and sugarcoat it. I’m a shit person a lot of the time, I am. I like having nice things. I like working a job where I don’t have to do anything other than boss other people around and sit in a comfortable chair all day. I love my life.”

“And what does any of this have to do with me?” Harry demanded.

“Everything,” John said seriously. “I want you to be apart of this. I want you to know that none of that, absolutely _none_ of that had _anything_ to do with you. That was about me, being weak and wanting more than I was allowed to have. That was me taking the easy way out while your mother took the hard one. I want you to know that I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you, or because you did something wrong. You’ve never done anything to deserve any of that. And I don’t care if you don’t want to talk to me ever again. If you don’t want a relationship with me, fine. But I need you to understand that part, at least. That it was _my fault,_  and I know that. I completely fucking know that, and I’m going to know that for the rest of my life, while you grow up and graduate from University and get a great job at some recording studio, finding the next big artist, or while you get married and have kids of your own and become a great father, and I won’t be invited to any of it.”

It wasn’t fair at all, the way his words ebbed at Harry’s anger. He _wanted_ to be angry. All this time, all these years, that’s all he wanted. He just wanted to be angry. But instead he was just hurt. He was really, really fucking hurt, all the time because of _him,_  and that wasn’t _fair._

“You could have called,” Harry said quietly. “You could have called, just once. Just to tell me that. That’s all I ever needed, and you never did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you really, though?”

“I am,” John said gravely. “I am more sorry for ever hurting you and your sister than I am for anything else I’ve ever done.”

Harry nodded, sitting up straighter. “Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay,” Harry repeated. “I’m not going to tell you it’s all fine and dandy, or that I forgive you, because I don’t. It’ll take a lot more than one heart-to-heart to make up for all that. But-- okay. If you really want me in your life, if you really want to make up for it, then prove it. Don’t tell me, just do it. Be there. Be there when I need someone to talk to because Louis and I got in a fight. Be there at Christmas. Be there at my birthday. Be there when I graduate, or get married, or get that job at that great recording studio. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. That’s it. Not money, or presents. Just for you to be there.”

“I will,” John said quickly.

Harry huffed out a breath and stood up. “Don’t tell me, just do it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Harry nodded. “Thanks for the coffee. Louis’ probably wondering where I am, though, so I should better…”

“Right.” His dad stood up. “You know, your stereo system is still in your room. I didn’t just buy that for the house, that was a present for you. I figure it’ll fit in a dorm room, as long as it’s not the size of a shoe box like mine was when I went.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Really?”

His dad grinned. “Help you move it to the car?”

“Yeah,” Harry said before he could change his mind.

Louis was waiting for them when they got outside, leaning against the car. “Figured that’s where you were,” he said, grinning. “Hello, Mr. Styles.”

“Louis,” John said, nodding his head as a way of greeting. “You two behave, alright?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Louis said breezily. “Behaving is so boring.”

Harry and John both snorted at him. Harry frowned at the way they did it at the exact same time, and he realized that maybe John was right about having more of an influence on him than he’d originally thought.

“We’re all going to the beach on Saturday,” Harry said suddenly. “Louis’ bringing his sisters, Liam’s bringing Zayn, and mum and Geoff are going to be there, too. You should come. Bring Yvette.”

His father contemplated this for a moment. “I have a business meeting, but I can reschedule. Just call me and let me know the time.”

“I will,” Harry agreed. “Bye.”

When he was inside the house, Louis turned to him, eyebrows raised. “You’re inviting your father to the beach with us?”

Harry shrugged. “If he actually comes.”

“Do you think he will?”

Harry licked his lips, eyes on his dad’s house. “I think so, yeah.”

Louis grinned and leaned in for a kiss. “Good, now let’s get going. I promised Zayn we’d be there before he started the movies, and Zayn is seriously obsessive when it comes to Lord of the Rings. It’s ridiculous.”

Harry shook his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he pointed out. “But okay. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

He made a point during the last few years, when he had finally given up being pathetic and begging his parents to let him come home, to avoid his old neighbourhood completely. And he’d done a good job of it, considering the fact that Louis lived literally two minutes away from his old home. Literally two minutes from his family and his old backyard with the rusted swing set that they could have replaced a hundred times, given the amount of money they had, but that Zayn had forced them to keep because he kissed his first crush on that swing set, broke his first bone falling off that swing set, threw up from laughing so hard at something Louis said on that swing set.

Liam parked right out front and shut off the car before Zayn could tell him to just keep going. He wanted Liam to keep going. He wanted Liam to just drive and drive and drive until he couldn’t look back and see his old driveway in the distance. And Liam would do it, if he honestly thought Zayn couldn’t handle it. The issue was that Liam seemed to think Zayn was a lot stronger than he actually was. But Zayn wasn’t strong at all. Zayn was weak. So, so weak, and he had a feeling that this would break him in a way that Liam couldn’t foresee.

“Fuck it,” Zayn said quietly. “I’ll wait another year. Apply for my own I.D. We don’t have to do this.”

Liam turned to him, and of course he had that set, determined look on his face. One that didn’t waver at all, that Zayn knew meant he wouldn’t be able to change Liam’s mind about this.

“It’ll be fine,” Liam assured him. “I’m right here.”

“She’ll probably slam the door on our faces,” he warned. “Or even call the police. You never know. I wouldn’t put it past her. Not that they’d actually arrest us or anything. They’d just remove us from the property, or--,”

“ _Zayn_.” Liam grabbed his hand and squeezed hard enough that he couldn’t help but wince. “I’m _right here_ , okay? Right here. Not going anywhere. And you’ll be _fine._ ”

Zayn took a deep, calming breath, and leaned into Liam a bit more because he always seemed to help Zayn breathe easier. “Fine,” Zayn repeated. “I’ll be fine.”

“Exactly. So we’ll just go knock on the door,” Liam said, pushing open his own door. He released Zayn’s hand, ignoring the lost, helpless sound Zayn made at that, and then shut the door. A moment later Zayn’s own door opened, and Liam leaned against it, waiting. “You want me to do it by myself? I can, if you want.”

Zayn shook his head. “No. No, I can do this. I can.”

Liam nodded. “You can,” he agreed. “I think you could do anything, if you really wanted to.”

Zayn snorted in spite of himself. “You flatter me, Liam. You and Louis both, actually. For some reason you both think I’m a lot better than I actually am.”

“Or maybe you think you’re a lot worse than you actually are,” Liam countered.

Zayn shook his head and grabbed his boyfriend’s hand. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Despite Zayn taking Liam’s hand, it was Liam that tugged him up the front walk, and then up the three steps to the porch. It was Liam who knocked on the door, who stood in front of Zayn, as if protecting him from what was on the other side. And it was Liam who his mum greeted, not Zayn.

“Hello,” she said, eyebrows drawn together.

She looked the same as she always did. Hair done up, a respectful blouse on, matched with a pair of black dress pants and sensible shoes that wouldn’t leave scuff marks on her perfectly pristine floor. The frown on her face instantly smoothed into one of surprise recognition.

“You’re the rugby player, right?” she asked. “The one in the paper.”

Liam’s cheeks turned red and he stuttered out a, “Yes, ma’am, but I’m actually--,”

And then she spotted Zayn. Her lips parted, innocuous brown lipstick coating them, as her eyes widened. “Liam,” she guessed, realization dawning on her. “From the phone on his birthday.” Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re--,”

“ _Mum_ ,” Zayn snapped, tugging Liam’s arm until Liam stumbled backwards a bit. Zayn stepped in front of him because he was not going to stand there and allow her to be rude to Liam. To him, sure, but not to Liam. “Can you just stop being cold for, like, two seconds?”

She turned her narrowed gaze to him. “What did I tell you last time you were here?” she demanded.

Zayn felt himself shrink back at the sharpness in her tone. “That you’d call the police.”

“Exactly. I suggest you leave before I get the chance to,” she said, just as someone shrieked and ran for the door, and she didn’t get her arm out fast enough to stop the small bundle from leaping into Zayn’s arms.

“Zayn!” his sister cried. “Zayn! Zayn! Mum! He’s come back!”

Zayn struggled to catch her, shifting her in his arms so she wouldn’t fall. “Hey, darling,” he said, smiling down at her through what he knew were tears brimming in his eyes. “How’s my favourite girl?”

“Lonely,” she said dramatically, arms tightening around him. “Missed you.”

His mum looked furious, but before she could take Safaa from his arms, Liam said, “Do you mind if we come in for a moment? I promise we won’t be long.”

She looked ready to say no, but then Safaa pouted and her chin got that small little indent that warned a storm of tears if she didn’t get her way, and his mum finally relented. “Fine,” she snapped. “But he can only stay for a few minutes.”

He had no idea where his other sisters, or his dad, were, but it was just the four of them in the kitchen when Safaa tugged him into his old seat at the middle of the table. Liam sat beside him, and Safaa refused to disentangle her arms from around him.

His mother stood restlessly at the counter, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Is there any reason for this visit, then?” she asked.

“There is, actually,” Liam said quickly. Zayn was grateful. He had a feeling that if he tried to speak, all that would come out was sobs, and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to stop them after letting them out. “Zayn’s going back to school, and he needs certain pieces of identification that he doesn’t have. He could apply for new ones, but that would take months, and there’s a deadline for when he has to be registered, and if we wait that long he won’t get in until next year.”

Zayn petted Safaa’s hair as Liam spoke, and she planted a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek. “Are you staying for good?” she asked.

Zayn shook his head. “Can’t,” he said brokenly. “Would if I could, though.”

But actually, now that he said it, he wouldn’t. Even if his mum asked him to come back (which was about as likely as Zayn cutting off his left arm), he wouldn’t. He couldn’t forgive her for everything. He just couldn’t. And looking at her hurt too much.

“I’ll see if I can find it,” his mother said after a moment. “You wait here. If I find you touching anything in this house, I will not hesitate to call the police.”

“Okay,” Zayn said, resigned. Liam stood up to follow her, and Zayn frowned at him for it. “Where are you going?”

Liam shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back.”

If he didn’t have his sister in his arms, he would have gone after Liam. Safaa wouldn’t move, though, and she was getting big enough that carrying her was a little difficult. He needed to start working out with Liam, apparently. Not that he actually would. He hated sweating.

They were gone for almost ten whole minutes. Ten minutes in which Safaa asked him a million questions. She was at that age, the one where she was curious about everything and didn’t have the sense to ever consider that someone might not want to answer her questions. He answered them all anyways, sugar coating certain ones because he couldn’t tell her the truth, trying to distract her when even lying didn’t work.

Finally Liam and his mum came back. Liam had an upset look on his face, but not an angry one, exactly. And his mum’s eyes were red and wet.

“Here,” she said, slapping a few pieces of plastic onto the table. “This is everything you’ll need. Safaa, up to your room. Now.”

“But mum--,”

“ _Now._ ”

Safaa whined but obeyed, hugging Zayn tightly once more before stomping up to her room, making far more noise than someone her size should be capable of. Zayn stood up after he heard her bedroom door closed, gathering up the I.D. to put it in his pockets.

“Thanks,” he said quietly as he headed for the door, Liam’s hand in his, warm and reassuringly familiar.

“Yes, well.” His mum crossed and uncrossed her arms. “You’ll be going now, then?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Let’s go, Liam.”

Liam tossed his mum a look over his shoulder, one that Zayn couldn’t see, before pulling Zayn towards the door so quickly he was pretty sure his arm popped out of place. Just as they were stepping over the threshold, his mum said, “They miss you, you know.”

Liam tensed almost as much as Zayn did. “It’s not like I willingly left,” Zayn reminded her, turning around. He had to release Liam’s hand to do it, mostly because Liam was trying to steadily pull him to the car.

“I know that,” his mother said softly. “But it’s still true.”

Zayn shrugged, grimacing. “They’ll be fine.”

“They will,” she agreed.

“Come on,” Liam said, wiping a hand over his cheek. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying that whole time. “Let’s just go, Zayn.”

“Okay.”

“She has camp every Tuesday and Thursday,” his mum blurted. This time it was Liam who turned first, Zayn doing so more reluctantly. “Safaa, I mean. She needs to be picked up at three. Your father and I work during that time, and I usually hire a car to get her. If you-- if you’d like to, she-- she’d probably like it if you picked her up instead.”

Zayn felt both too cold and too hot all of a sudden. She didn’t look like she was playing some cruel joke on him. In fact, she looked both annoyed at herself for suggesting it, and close to tears, all at the same time.

“I don’t have a car,” Zayn said regretfully, cupping a hand over his eyes so he could see past the glare of the sun.

“I do,” Liam said quickly. “I have a car. We’ll do it. Just tell me where. It’s not a problem.”

Zayn wanted to kiss him right there, but he had a feeling that his mum would take back the offer if he did. Instead he resigned himself to whispering, as quietly as he could, “I love you.”

Liam put a hand on his back, fingers digging I just a bit.

“At the park on Renfield,” his mother instructed. “I’ll give the camp your name so they know to release her to you.”

“Great,” Zayn said honestly. “Really. Thank you, I don’t think you understand--,”

His mum turned and headed for the house before he could finish. The door slammed shut between them, leaving both him and Liam dumbfounded. Liam broke out of it faster, though, and he guided Zayn to the car. In fact, he sort of had to push Zayn into his seat, too, and then do the belt up for him. Zayn couldn’t really move.

“Just get us away from here,” Zayn said when Liam shoved the keys into the ignition. “Faster, Liam. Like, now.”

Liam looked alarmed. “Why? I thought that went well, actually--,”

“Because I really, really need to kiss you, and I can’t do it with her watching out the window,” Zayn explained in a rush.

“Oh.” Liam nodded furiously. “Right, okay.”

Zayn’s brain couldn’t seem to work at all during the ride to his apartment, but when Liam parked in the lot it seemed to flick back on, and he practically jumped over the seat, throwing himself into Liam’s lap, much the same way Safaa had thrown herself into Zayn’s arms earlier. And, just like Zayn had, Liam struggled to hold onto him, shifting Zayn’s weight until he was more comfortable.

“Thank you,” Zayn whispered. “I don't know what you said to her, but thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me,” Liam said, shaking his head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did, though,” Zayn denied. “You did so much, and you don’t even know it.”

Liam grinned at him, but Zayn could see in his eyes that he still didn’t believe it. “I thought you said you were desperate to kiss me,” Liam reminded. “So can we do that?”

Telling Liam how much he’d done for him would have to wait, he decided. For now he just really, really needed to kiss him. “Okay,” Zayn said before bending down to press their lips together.

 

* * *

 

**Louis**

Louis was, apparently, the only one freaking out about the fact that, in less than a week, they would all be leaving for Universities far away from each other. He was leaving the comforts his home and his old school, where he knew everyone by name (unless they weren’t important enough for him to care), and where everyone knew _him_ by name. He was leaving behind his best friend, and his boyfriend, and his family. And yeah, he was definitely freaking out.

Oh, and on top of that all, Zayn was late. So was Liam, but -- as much as Louis adores Liam-- that wasn’t the same.

“He’ll be here soon,” Harry assured him, voice slightly slurred already from the quarter bottle of wine he’d consumed.

They were in Louis’ basement (his sisters all at friend’s houses for the night so they wouldn’t be there to bother them), Niall sprawled out on the floor, Harry and Louis on the couch, various snacks and drinks littered about the room, music playing softly in the background. And Louis felt like crying because, this time next week, they’d all be separated. All of them. Not one of the five of them sticking together.

“I just want my Zayn,” Louis whined. He may have already gotten through as much of his bottle of wine as Harry had, and wine always made him emotional. So sue him.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice said breathlessly. “We promised the girls we’d take them to a movie, and Saf pouted until Liam agreed to go see one more. She’s got him wrapped around her finger, I swear.”

“Really?” Liam asked, plopping himself down beside Niall, tugging Zayn down with him. “I recall _you_ pouting and begging to see another movie with the three of us laughed at you.”

“That is definitely not how it happened,” Zayn denied.

Louis slid down the couch until he was on the floor, too, and then he put his head in Zayn’s lap. “I’m going to miss this,” he said quietly. “All of this. All of you. I don’t want summer to end.”

“It’s not like we’re dying,” Zayn pointed out, exasperated. “We’ll see each other at holidays, and you can always drive into town and visit. You’re only going to be two hours away.”

“Two whole hours!” Louis said shrilly. “And Harry’s going to be three hours in the opposite direction, and Niall two hours in another, and Liam-- Liam, how far away is your school?”

“An hour,” Liam supplied. “Not a long drive at all. That way I can come back on the weekends.”

“Every weekend?” Zayn asked, sitting up straighter.

Liam shrugged. “Whenever you want me.”

“I always want you,” Zayn said quietly, fisting a hand on Liam’s shirt.

“No,” Louis said, batting at Zayn’s hand. “That isn’t what tonight’s about. Tonight is about _friendship,_  not boyfriendy shit.”

“When the fuck did I agree to feature in an episode of My Little Pony?” Zayn demanded, eyebrows raised.

“When you became my friend,” Louis told him, dropping his head into Zayn’s lap. “I just want to soak this up before I go. God, if someone had told me a year ago that I’d be spending my last weekend of summer before University in my basement with only four other guys, I’d of thrown myself off a building. I should be in Spain, or Paris, or on a yacht, sailing the Caribbean. Instead I’m here with you four, and you better appreciate that, Zayn.”

“We appreciate you, Louis,” Niall said suddenly, throwing his legs over Louis’.

“We definitely do,” Harry added, falling to the ground beside him, tugging at Louis’ hand until he uncurled his fingers and then recurled them around Harry’s.

“Are we really doing a group cuddle?” Liam asked.

Louis attempted to sit up, but the limbs over top of his own made that difficult. Instead he tilted his head to glare at Liam. “Yes, we are. Take advantage of that now, because in a weeks time we won’t be able to do this.”

Liam chuckled and put his head beside Louis’ in Zayn’s lap. “I wasn’t mocking it,” he added. “I was just clarifying.”

Louis sighed and grabbed Liam’s hand, too, for good measure. “We’re all going to break apart,” he said sadly. “That’s what happens when people go off to University and start their real lives. They stop being friends. They drift away. This time next year, we might all have new friends and we might not even talk to each other.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Harry said, and Louis couldn’t see him, but he knew Harry was rolling his eyes.

“You can’t know that,” Louis argued.

“Yeah, I can,” Harry said firmly. “Because, see, Liam and I made a friendship pact when we were, like, thirteen, and he’s never allowed to abandon me or else I can sue him. I have it in writing. And Niall is dating my sister, and they’re probably going to get married, so he’ll always be around, too. And then Zayn comes as a package deal with both you and Liam, so he’s not going anywhere, either. And I’m sort of in love with you, somehow, so I guarantee that, this time next year, we’ll all be here, just like this. Except Niall will probably grow a goatee at University, and Liam will have, like, four tattoos, because Zayn will corrupt him, and you’ll be out on bail for murdering your roommate, and I’ll have a head of gray hair.”

Louis froze and turned to him. “Why would you have gray hair?”

“Because the four of you are insane, and it’s taking a toll on my health,” Harry said solemnly.

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’re the one who’s a future murderer,” Harry argued.

“My legs are cramping,” Zayn put in. “You two need to get off me.”

“But I’m comfortable,” Liam protested.

“I don’t really have anything to say, I just felt left out because you were all talking,” Niall added.

Louis snorted and sat up. “Fine,” he said, pushing himself off the ground. “No more depressing shit. Let’s just promise to all stay in touch.”

Everyone grunted some sort of reply.

“Good,” Louis said. “Now let’s listen to music and get so drunk that when I start crying, none of you will remember it.”

Harry got up, too, pulling a disk from his pocket. “Made a CD for tonight.”

Louis shook his head, grinning. “Of course you did.”

He grabbed it and put it in the stereo, turning it up instantly. “Is this Katy Perry?” Louis asked, surprised.

“It’s supposed to be ironic,” Harry said, lifting his chin.

“Ironic how, exactly?”

Harry groaned. “You’re not supposed to ask that. I just like Katy Perry, alright?”

Louis gasped dramatically. “Hipsters United is going to have to take back your membership.”

“Fuck off,” Harry said, but he was smiling anyways. “Just turn that up and get drunk with me. I see a bottle of wine with your name on it.”

It literally had Louis’ name written on it. He got a little possessive when it came to his wine. “Yeah, alright,” he agreed. “Anyone need anything? I can order pizza, or something.”

Zayn shook his head, Niall was too busy eating a handful of crisps, Harry was taking a swig of his wine, and Liam said, “No, I think we’re okay.”

Louis looked around and then nodded. “Yeah, I think you’re right,” he agreed before tugging Harry towards him. “Do you want to do something fun?”

Harry cocked his head to the side, mischief glinting in his eyes. “What kind of fun?”

“Have you ever been pool hopping, Harold?” Louis asked.

“Several times, yes,” he answered.

Louis’ grin turned into a smirk, and he leaned in to add, “Have you ever skinny dipped while pool hopping?”

Harry pulled back, eyes wide. He shook his head slowly. “Can’t say I have, actually.”

Louis tugged the bottle of wine from his hands. “Then let’s get drunk enough that we can use the wine as an excuse when your dad finds us ass naked in his pool.”

Harry tugged the bottle back from him, taking a swig of it before replying with, “Okay. Deal.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (did you guys notice that the last piece of dialogue in each part included the word okay? like the title? was that cheesy? yes? shhh... don't judge me. i enjoy cheese) 
> 
> If you're reading this, that means you've went through this entire fucking fic (it's so long, I don't even know how that happened), so you deserve some kind of compensation. Sadly, the world has yet to come up with a way for me to give you all cookies through the internet, so a simple THANK YOU FOR SPENDING YOUR TIME READING THIS!!!! will have to suffice.
> 
> But seriously, thank you. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I hope the ending left you feeling as satisfied as possible (endings are the hardest part for me, other than titles, and this might be the worst possible ending, so if it is, I apologize profusely). I hope you all have lovely days (or nights, or lives or whatever), and I seriously appreciate each and every reader, even if you absolutely hated this. And I might not reply back to every comment (because i don't want to annoy anyone, also I am the laziest person ever??) but I read every comment and I swear that each one means so much to me, so thank you guys. -- Caitlin <3


End file.
